On his way back to the office he passed a secondhand book-stall. He had lingered in front of it many times before now, turning over the leaves of this and that odd volume, and picking up the scraps of amusement and information which are always to be found in such an occupation. To-day, however, he overhauled the contents of the trays with rather more curiosity than usual; not because he expected to find a pearl of great price among the dust and dog's ears of the "threepenny" tray. Reginald was the last person in the world to consider himself a child of fortune in that respect.
No! he had Master Love on his mind, and the memory of that blazing _Newgate Calendar_ on his conscience, and, even at the cost of a further reduction of his vanishing income, he determined not to return provided with food for Love's body only, but also for Love's mind.
Accordingly he selected two very shabby and tattered volumes from the "threepenny" tray--one a fragment of _Robinson Crusoe_, the other Part One of the _Pilgrim's Progress_, and with these in his pocket and the eatables in his hands, he returned to his charge as proud as a general who has just relieved a starving garrison.
After the frugal supper the books were triumphantly produced, but Master Love, still mindful of his recent tribulations, regarded them shyly at first, as another possible bait to his own undoing; but presently curiosity, and the sight of a wonderful picture of Giant Despair, overcame his scruples, and he held out his hand eagerly.
It was amusing to watch the critical look on his face as he took a preliminary glance through the pages of the two books. Reginald was half sorry he had not produced them one at a time; but it being too late now to recall either, he awaited with no little excitement the decision of the young connoisseur upon them. Apparently Love found considerable traces of what he would call "jam" in both. The picture of Crusoe coming upon the footprint in the sand, and that of the great battle between Christian and Apollyon, seemed to gather into themselves the final claims of the two rivals, and for a few moments victory trembled in the balance. At last he shut up _Robinson Crusoe_ and stuffed it in his pocket.