Libro was looking over the Poems of John Keats, published in 1817, when a catalogue slip fell out. On the slip it stated that a copy had once sold for five hundred dollars! This, then, was meat and drink for him! He would sell it! He could live for months on poor Keats. But his soul revolted. He was not a cannibal. He could not live off the flesh of his own.
But at last he was compelled to return to Steinman. He wrapped up the precious volume tenderly, affectionately. He took it bravely, for was he not offering at the sacrifice the dearest of his possessions? He gently, timidly, unwrapt before the pawnbroker the little volume, awaiting expectantly the admiration that always followed its appearance. But, alas, he was not among book-lovers.
"No books!" exclaimed Steinman. "I've got stuck on them once or twice before. Not one cent!"
"You,--you--" but Libro could not find words to explain his hatred. He would have killed him had he a weapon near.
"Don't you know that book has sold for five hundred dollars at auction," exclaimed Libro.
"Then sell it at auction," replied Steinman, politely. As the poor and crushed bibliophile turned to go, the proprietor interrupted him.
"Wait. If you are so interested in that old plunder, perhaps you would like to see this."
Steinman held in his hands a dingy old volume. Libro could not resist. An unknown force compelled him to look at it. With hatred consuming him, he nevertheless, like a true bibliophile, received from his enemy the book. He opened it.
"Why, they are Shakespeare quartos!" he almost shouted, and then stopped suddenly.
The proprietor was looking at him narrowly. Libro's heart had almost stopped beating. There was the long lost quarto of "Titus Andronicus," 1594, and a perfect first edition of "Hamlet"! There were others in the volume, a veritable treasure trove. It was, in truth, a great discovery!
"Something to a collector," replied Libro, honestly: "nothing to you."
"Well, if you know anyone who wants the old thing he can have it for ten dollars. I once advanced that amount on it. Since then I say, No Books!"
John Libro by a superhuman effort controlled himself.
"Steinman, I need money for food. You already have everything valuable I possess,--but this."