"Lockwood Hale, dealer in new and secondhand
books. Just look around on the tables and you'll likely come across
what you want. I'll wrap it for you when you find it. Just now I'm
busy."
Betty looked desperately at Bobby, who was listening over the top of
her book, and stifled a desire to laugh.
"I don't want a book," she insisted gently. "I want to ask you a
question. About Bob Henderson. You know you were interested in the
records of the Oliver County almshouse, and you thought you might
know something of his people."
The old man pushed his spectacles up on his forehead fretfully and
regarded the girl impatiently from a pair of near-sighted blue eyes.
"The books weren't worth anything," he told her seriously. "I spent
near a day going over 'em, and there wasn't a volume worth bringing
back with me. Folks get the idea in their heads that a book's worth
money just because it is old. 'Tain't so--I could fill my tables and
shelves with old trash and still not have any stock. Jim Turner don't
know a valuable book from a turnip."
Mr. Hale gave every indication of returning to the absorbing volume
before him, and Betty plunged in hastily with another question.
"You know a boy named Bob Henderson, don't you?" she urged.
Pages:
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137