Conniston got to his feet and went to where the reader sat, stooping
to look over his shoulder. The book was "Macbeth." He picked up the
two volumes upon the ground. They were old, much worn, much torn,
their backs long ago lost in some second-hand book-store. One of them
was a copy of Lamb's _Essays_, the other a state series second reader.

"Quite an assortment," was the only thing he could think to say.

Lonesome Pete nodded complacently. "I got 'em off'n ol' Sam Bristow.
You don't happen to know Sam, do you, stranger?"

Conniston shook his head. Lonesome Pete went on to enlighten him.

"Sam Bristow is about the eddicatedest man this side San Francisco, I
reckon. He's got a store over to Rocky Bend. Ever been there?"

Again Conniston shook his head, and again Lonesome Pete explained:

"Rocky Bend is a right smart city, more'n four times as big as Injun
Creek. It's a hundred mile t'other side Injun Creek, makin' it a
hundred an' fifty mile from here. In his store he's got a lot of
books. I went over there to make my buy, an' I don't mind tellin' you,
stranger, I sure hit a bargain. I got them three books an nine more as
is in that box under the seat, makin' an even dozen, an' ol' Sam let
the bunch go for fourteen dollars. I reckon he was short of cash,
huh?"

Since the books at a second-hand store should have been worth about
ninety cents, Conniston made no answer. Instead he picked up the
dog-eared volume of "Macbeth."