of these books prescribed by the practitioner of bibliotherapy.
He was about to open the door when Mifflin appeared at his side.

"Look here," he said, with a quaint touch of embarrassment.
"I was very much interested by our talk. I'm all alone this evening--
my wife is away on a holiday. Won't you stay and have supper with me?
I was just looking up some new recipes when you came in."

The other was equally surprised and pleased by this unusual invitation.

"Why--that's very good of you," he said. "Are you sure I won't
be intruding?"

"Not at all!" cried the bookseller. "I detest eating alone:
I was hoping someone would drop in. I always try to have a guest
for supper when my wife is away. I have to stay at home, you see,
to keep an eye on the shop. We have no servant, and I do the
cooking myself. It's great fun. Now you light your pipe and make
yourself comfortable for a few minutes while I get things ready.
Suppose you come back to my den."

On a table of books at the front of the shop Mifflin laid a large
card lettered:


PROPRIETOR AT SUPPER
IF YOU WANT ANYTHING
RING THIS BELL