exchange, and goes away rejoicing, his set complete. No collector, as
is very well known, whether of books, coins, pictures, medals, fans,
scarabs, book-plates, autographs, stamps, or anything else, has any
conscience at all. Anybody can cut out slips and make a catalogue, but
it requires a sharp assistant, with eyes all over his head like a
spider, to be always on guard against this felonious and unscrupulous
collector.

Next, there came two schoolboys together, who asked for and bought a
crib to "Virgil;" and then a girl who wanted some cheap French
reading-book. Just as the clock began to strike five, Mr. Emblem
lifted his head and looked up. The shop-door opened, and there stepped
in, rubbing his shoes on the mat as if he belonged to the house, an
elderly gentleman of somewhat singular appearance. He wore a fez cap,
but was otherwise dressed as an Englishman--in black frock coat, that
is, buttoned up--except that his feet were incased in black cloth
shoes, so that he went noiselessly. His hair was short and white, and
he wore a small white beard; his skin was a rather dark brown; he was,
in fact, a Hindoo, and his name was Lala Roy.

He nodded gravely to Mr. James and walked into the back shop.

"It goes well," he asked, "with the buying and the selling?"

"Surely, Lala, surely."

"A quiet way of buying and selling; a way fit for one who meditates,"
said the Hindoo, looking round. "Tell me, my friend, what ails the
child? Is she sick?"