the haunted bookshop(闹鬼的书店)-第5章
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counterpane of drifting tobacco haze； he would pore over the manuscript；
crossing out； interpolating； re…arguing； and then referring to volumes on
his shelves。 Bock would snore under the chair； and soon Roger's brain
would begin to waver。 In the end he would fall asleep over his papers；
wake with a cramp about two o'clock； and creak irritably to a lonely bed。
All this we mention only to explain how it was that Roger was dozing
at his desk about midnight； the evening after the call paid by Aubrey
Gilbert。 He was awakened by a draught of chill air passing like a mountain
brook over his bald pate。 Stiffly he sat up and looked about。 The shop
was in darkness save for the bright electric over his head。 Bock； of more
regular habit than his master； had gone back to his couch in the kitchen；
made of a packing case that had once coffined a set of the Encyclopaedia
Britannica。
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〃That's funny；〃 said Roger to himself。 〃Surely I locked the door？〃 He
walked to the front of the shop； switching on the cluster of lights that hung
from the ceiling。 The door was ajar； but everything else seemed as usual。
Bock； hearing his footsteps； came trotting out from the kitchen； his claws
rattling on the bare wooden floor。 He looked up with the patient inquiry of
a dog accustomed to the eccentricities of his patron。
〃I guess I'm getting absent…minded；〃 said Roger。 〃I must have left the
door open。〃 He closed and locked it。 Then he noticed that the terrier was
sniffing in the History alcove； which was at the front of the shop on the
left…hand side。
〃What is it； old man？〃 said Roger。 〃Want something to read in bed？〃
He turned on the light in that alcove。 Everything appeared normal。 Then
he noticed a book that projected an inch or so beyond the even line of
bindings。 It was a fad of Roger's to keep all his books in a flat row on the
shelves； and almost every evening at closing time he used to run his palm
along the backs of the volumes to level any irregularities left by careless
browsers。 He put out a hand to push the book into place。 Then he
stopped。
〃Queer again；〃 he thought。 〃Carlyle's Oliver Cromwell！ I looked for
that book last night and couldn't find it。 When that professor fellow was
here。 Maybe I'm tired and can't see straight。 I'll go to bed。〃
The next day was a date of some moment。 Not only was it
Thanksgiving Day； with the November meeting of the Corn Cob Club
scheduled for that evening； but Mrs。 Mifflin had promised to get home
from Boston in time to bake a chocolate cake for the booksellers。 It was
said that some of the members of the club were faithful in attendance more
by reason of Mrs。 Mifflin's chocolate cake； and the cask of cider that her
brother Andrew McGill sent down from the Sabine Farm every autumn；
than on account of the bookish conversation。
Roger spent the morning in doing a little housecleaning； in preparation
for his wife's return。 He was a trifle abashed to find how many mingled
crumbs and tobacco cinders had accumulated on the dining…room rug。 He
cooked himself a modest lunch of lamb chops and baked potatoes； and
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was pleased by an epigram concerning food that came into his mind。 〃It's
not the food you dream about that matters；〃 he said to himself； 〃it's the
vittles that walk right in and become a member of the family。〃 He felt that
this needed a little polishing and rephrasing； but that there was a germ of
wit in it。 He had a habit of encountering ideas at his solitary meals。
After this； he was busy at the sink scrubbing the dishes； when he was
surprised by feeling two very competent arms surround him； and a pink
gingham apron was thrown over his head。 〃Mifflin；〃 said his wife； 〃how
many times have I told you to put on an apron when you wash up！〃
They greeted each other with the hearty； affectionate simplicity of
those congenially wedded in middle age。 Helen Mifllin was a buxom；
healthy creature； rich in good sense and good humour； well nourished both
in mind and body。 She kissed Roger's bald head； tied the apron around
his shrimpish person； and sat down on a kitchen chair to watch him finish
wiping the china。 Her cheeks were cool and ruddy from the keen air； her
face lit with the tranquil satisfaction of those who have sojourned in the
comfortable city of Boston。
〃Well； my dear；〃 said Roger； 〃this makes it a real Thanksgiving。 You
look as plump and full of matter as The Home Book of Verse。〃
〃I've had a stunning time；〃 she said； patting Bock who stood at her
knee； imbibing the familiar and mysterious fragrance by which dogs
identify their human friends。 〃I haven't even heard of a book for three
weeks。 I did stop in at the Old Angle Book Shop yesterday； just to say
hullo to Joe Jillings。 He says all booksellers are crazy； but that you are
the craziest of the lot。 He wants to know if you're bankrupt yet。〃
Roger's slate…blue eyes twinkled。 He hung up a cup in the china
closet and lit his pipe before replying。
〃What did you say？〃
〃I said that our shop was haunted； and mustn't be supposed to come
under the usual conditions of the trade。〃
〃Bully for you！ And what did Joe say to that？〃
〃‘Haunted by the nuts！'〃
〃Well；〃 said Roger； 〃when literature goes bankrupt I'm willing to go
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with it。 Not till then。 But by the way； we're going to be haunted by a
beauteous damsel pretty soon。 You remember my telling you that Mr。
Chapman wants to send his daughter to work in the shop？ Well； here's a
letter I had from him this morning。〃
He rummaged in his pocket； and produced the following； which Mrs。
Mifflin read：
DEAR MR。 MIFFLIN；
I am so delighted that you and Mrs。 Mifflin are willing to try the
experiment of taking my daughter as an apprentice。 Titania is really a very
charming girl； and if only we can get some of the 〃finishing school〃
nonsense out of her head she will make a fine woman。 She has had （it
was my fault； not hers） the disadvantage of being brought up； or rather
brought down； by having every possible want and whim gratified。 Out of
kindness for herself and her future husband； if she should have one； I want
her to learn a little about earning a living。 She is nearly nineteen； and I
told her if she would try the bookshop job for a while I would take her to
Europe for a year afterward。
As I explained to you； I want her to think she is really earning her way。
Of course I don't want the routine to be too hard for her； but I do want her
to get some idea of what it means to face life on one's own。 If you will
pay her ten dollars a week as a beginner； and deduct her board from that； I
will pay you twenty dollars a week； privately； for your responsibility in
caring for her and keeping your and Mrs。 Mifflin's friendly eyes on her。
I'm coming round to the Corn Cob meeting to…morrow night； and we can
make the final arrangements。
Luckily； she is very fond of books； and I really think she is looking
forward to the adventure with much anticipation。 I overheard her saying to
one of her friends yesterday that she was going to do some 〃literary work〃
this winter。 That's the kind of nonsense I want her to outgrow。 When I
hear her say that she's got a job in a bookstore； I'll know she's cured。
Cordially yours； GEORGE CHAPMAN。
〃Well？〃 said Roger； as Mrs。 Mifflin made no comment。 〃Don't you
think it will be rather interesting to get a naive young girl's reactions
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toward the problems of our tranquil existence？〃
〃Roger； you blessed innocent！〃 cried his wife。 〃Life will no longer
be tranquil with a girl of nineteen round the place。 You may fool yourself；
but you can't fool me。 A girl of nineteen doesn't REACT toward things。
She explodes。 Things don't ‘react' anywhere but in Boston and in
chemical laboratories。 I suppose you know you're taking a human
bombshell into the arsenal？〃
Roger looked dubious。 〃I remember something in Weir of Hermiston
about a girl being ‘an explosive engine；'〃 he said。 〃But I don't see that she
can do any very great harm round here。 We're both pretty well proof
against shell shock。 The worst that could happen would be if she got
hold of my private copy of Fireside Conversation in the Age of queen
Elizabeth。 Remind me to lock it up somewhere； will you？〃
This secret masterpiece by Mark Twain was one of the bookseller's
treasures。 Not even Helen had ever been permitted to read it； and she
had shrewdly judged that it was not in her line； for though she knew
perfectly well where he kept it （together with his life insurance policy；
some Liberty Bonds； an autograph letter from Charles Spencer Chaplin；
and a snapshot of herself taken on their honeymoon） she had never made
any attempt to examine it。
〃Well；〃 said Helen； 〃Titania or no Titania； if the Corn Cobs want their
chocolate cake to…night； I must get busy。 Take my suitcase upstairs like a
good fellow。〃
A gathering of booksellers is a pleasant sanhedrim to attend。 The
members of this ancient craft bear mannerisms and earmarks just as
definitely recognizable as those of the cloak and suit business or any ot
