too, I think--but this I am certain he would like, just
in this morning--Among the Monkeys of New Guinea--ten
dollars, net."

And with this Mr. Sellyer laid his hand on a pile of new
books, apparently as numerous as the huge pile of Golden
Dreams.

"Among the Monkeys," he repeated, almost caressingly.

"It seems rather expensive," said the lady.

"Oh, very much so--a most expensive book," the manager
repeated in a tone of enthusiasm. "You see, Mrs. Rasselyer,
it's the illustrations, actual photographs"--he ran the
leaves over in his fingers--"of actual monkeys, taken
with the camera--and the paper, you notice--in fact,
madam, the book costs, the mere manufacture of it, nine
dollars and ninety cents--of course we make no profit
on it. But it's a book we like to handle."

Everybody likes to be taken into the details of technical
business; and of course everybody likes to know that a
bookseller is losing money. These, I realised, were two
axioms in the methods of Mr. Sellyer.

So very naturally Mrs. Rasselyer bought Among the Monkeys,
and in another moment Mr. Sellyer was directing a clerk
to write down an address on Fifth Avenue, and was bowing
deeply as he showed the lady out of the door.