there were counters for magazines and post-cards, popular music,
and best-selling novels, while in the rear of the shop tables and
shelves were stocked with ancient volumes, and on the wall
surrounding them hung engravings, prints and woodcuts of even the
eighteenth century. Just as the drugstore on the corner seemed to
be a waiting station for those of New Bedford who used the
trolley-cars, so for those who moved in automobiles, or still clung
to the family carriage, Hatchardson's appeared to be less a shop
than a public meeting-place. I noticed that the clerks, most of
whom were women, were with the customers on a most friendly
footing, addressing them, and by them being addressed by name.
Finding I was free to wander where I pleased, I walked to the rear
of the shop and from one of the tables picked up a much-worn
volume. It was entitled "The Log of the JOLLY POLLY, and was
illustrated with wood cuts showing square- rigged ships and whales
Spouting. For five minutes, lost to my Surroundings, I turned the
pages; and then became conscious that across the table some one was
watching me. I raised my eyes and beheld a face of most surprising
charm, intelligence and beauty. It was so lovely that it made me
wince. The face was the fortune, and judging from the fact that in
her hand she held a salesbook, the sole fortune, of a tall young
girl who apparently had approached to wait on me. She was looking
toward the street, so that, with the book- shelves for a
back-ground, her face was in profile, and I determined swiftly that
if she were to wait on me she would be kept waiting as long as my
money lasted. I did not want "The Log of the JOLLY POLLY," but I
did want to hear the lovely lady speak, and especially I desired
that the one to whom she spoke should be myself.

"What is the price of this?" I asked. With magnificent self-