AT THE GREEN DRAGON VI
By Beatrice Hararden
THE EXCISEMAN’S LIBRARY.
David Ellis did not feel genially disposed toward the historian; and yet when he stood in the kitchen of the Green Dragon, testing the new brew, and saw Hieronymus eagerly watching the process, he could not but be amused. There was something about Hieronymus which was altogether irresistible. He had a power, quite unconscious to himself, of drawing people over to his side. And yet he never tried to win; he was just himself, nothing more and nothing less.
“I am not wishing to pry into the secrets of the profession,” he said to David Ellis; “but I do like to see how everything is done.”
The exciseman good-naturedly taught him how to test the strength of the beer, and Hieronymus was as pleased as though he had learned some great secret of the universe, or unearthed some long-forgotten fact in history.
“Are you sure the beer comes up to its usual standard?” he asked mischievously, turning to Mrs. Benbow at the same time. “Are you sure it has nothing of the beef-tea element about it? We drink beef-tea by the quart in this establishment. I’m allowed nothing else.”
David laughed, and said it was the best beer in the neighborhood; and with that he left the kitchen and went into the ale-room to exchange a few words with Mr. Howells, the proprietor of the rival inn, who always came to the Green Dragon to have his few glasses of beer in peace, free from the stormy remonstrances of his wife. Every one in Little Stretton knew his secret, and respected it. Hieronymus returned to the parlor, where he was supposed to be deep in study.
After a few minutes some one knocked at the door, and David Ellis came in.
“Excuse me troubling you,” he said, rather nervously, “but there is a little matter I wanted to ask you about.”
“It’s about that confounded pastry!” thought Hieronymus, as he drew a chair to the fireside and welcomed the exciseman to it.
David sank down into it, twisted his whip, and looked now at Hieronymus and now at the books which lay scattered on the table. He evidently wished to say something, but he did not know how to begin.
“I know what you want to say,” said Hieronymus.
“No, you don’t,” answered the exciseman. “No one knows except myself.”
Hieronymus retreated, crushed, but rather relieved too.
Then David, gaining courage, continued:
“Books are in your line, aren’t they?”
“It just does happen to be my work to know a little about them,” the historian answered. “Are you interested in them too?”
“Well,” said David, hesitating, “I can’t say I read them, but I buy them.”
“Most people do that,” said Hieronymus; “it takes less time to buy than to read, and we are pressed for time in this century.”
“You see,” said the exciseman, “I don’t buy the books for myself, and it’s rather awkward knowing what to get. Now what would you get for a person who was really fond of reading: something of a scholar, you understand? That would help me for my next lot.”
“It all depends on the taste of the person,” Hieronymus said kindly. “Some like poetry, some like novels; others like books about the moon, and others like books about the north pole, or the tropics.”
David did not know much about the north pole or the tropics, but he had certainly bought several volumes of poetry, and Hieronymus’ words gave him courage.
“I bought several books of poetry,” he said, lifting his head up with a kind of triumph which was unmistakable. “Cowper, Mrs. Hemans–”
“Yes,” said Hieronymus patiently.
“And the other day I bought Milton,” continued the exciseman.
“Ah,” said the historian, with a faint smile of cheerfulness. He had never been able to care for Milton (though he never owned to this).
“And now I thought of buying this,” said David, taking from his pocket a small slip of paper and showing it to his companion.
Hieronymus read: “Selections from Robert Browning.”
“Come, come!” he said cheerily, “this is a good choice!”
“It is not my choice,” said David simply. “I don’t know one fellow from another. But the man at the shop in Ludlow told me it was a book to have. If you say so too, of course that settles the matter.”
“Well,” said Hieronymus, “and what about the other books?”
“I tell you what,” said David suddenly, “if you’d come to my lodgings one day, you could look at the books I’ve got and advise me about others. That would be the shortest and pleasantest way.”
“By all means,” said the historian. “Then you have not yet given away your gifts?”
“Not yet,” said David quietly. “I am waiting awhile.”
And then he relapsed into silence and timidity, and went on twisting his whip.
Hieronymus was interested, but he had too much delicate feeling to push the inquiry, and not having a mathematical mind he was quite unable to put two and two together without help from another source. So he just went on smoking his pipe, wondering all the time what possible reason his companion could have for collecting a library beginning with Mrs. Hemans.
After a remark about the weather and the crops–Hieronymus was becoming quite agricultural–David rose in an undecided kind of manner, expressed his thanks, and took his leave, but there was evidently something more he wanted to say, and yet he went away without saying it.
“I’m sure he wants to speak about the pastry,” thought Hieronymus. “Confound him! Why doesn’t he?”
The next moment the door opened, and David put his head in.
“There’s something else I wanted to say,” he stammered out. “The fact is, I don’t tell anybody about the books I buy. It’s my own affair, and I like to keep it to myself. But I’m sure I can trust you.”
“I should just think you could,” Hieronymus answered cheerily.
So he promised secrecy, and then followed the exciseman to the door, and watched him mount his horse and ride off. Mr. Benbow was coming in at the time, and Hieronymus said some few pleasant words about David Ellis.
“He’s the nicest man in these parts,” Mr. Benbow said warmly. “We all like him. Joan Hammond will be a lucky girl if she gets him for a husband.”
“Is he fond of her, then?” asked Hieronymus.
“He has always been fond of her since I can remember,” Mr. Benbow answered.
Then Hieronymus, having received this valuable assistance, proceeded carefully to put two and two together.
“Now I know for whom the exciseman intends his library!” he said to himself triumphantly.