“A strange life!” said Mr. Tolman. “Do you know, I never thought that people amused themselves in that way. And night after night, I suppose.”

“Yes, sir, night after night, Sundays and all.”

The night druggist now took up his book.

“Going home to read?” asked Mr. Tolman.

“Well, no” said the other; “it’s rather cold this afternoon to read. I think I’ll take a brisk walk.”

“Can’t you leave your book until you return?” asked Mr. Tolman; “that is, if you will come back this way. It’s an awkward book to carry about.”

“Thank you, I will,” said Glascow. “I shall come back this way.”

When he had gone, Mr. Tolman took up the book and began to look over it more carefully than he had done before. But his examination did not last long.

“How anybody of common-sense can take any interest in this stuff is beyond my comprehension,” said Mr. Tolman as he closed the book and put it on a little shelf behind the counter.

When Glascow came back, Mr. Tolman asked him to stay and warm himself; and then, after they had talked for a short time, Mr. Tolman began to feel hungry. He had his winter appetite and had lunched early. So said he to the night druggist, who had opened his “Dormstock,” “How would you like to sit here and read awhile, while I go and get my dinner? I will light the gas and you can be very confortable here if you are not in a hurry.”

P. Glascow was in no hurry at all and was very glad to have some quiet reading by a warm fire; and so Mr. Tolman left him, feeling perfectly confident that a man who had been allowed by the old lady to renew a book nine times must be perfectly trustworthy.

When Mr. Tolman returned, the two had some further conversation in the corner by the little stove.

“It must be rather annoying,” said the night druggist, “not to be able to go out to your meals without shutting up your shop. If you like,” said he rather hestitatingly, “I will step in about this time in the afternoon and stay here while you go to dinner. I’ll be glad to do this until you get an assistant. I can easily attend to most people who come in and others can wait.”

Mr. Tolman jumped at this proposition. It was exactly what he wanted.

So P. Glascow came every afternoon and read “Dormstock” while Mr. Tolman went to dinner; and before long he came at lunchtime also. It was just as convenient as not, he said. He had finished his breakfast and would like to read awhile. Mr. Tolman fancied that the night druggist’s lodgings were, perhaps, not very well warmed, which idea explained the desire to walk rather than read on a cold afternoon. Glascow’s name was entered on the free list, and he always took away the “Dormstock” at night, because he might have a chance of looking into it at the store when custom began to grow slack in the latter part of the early morning.

One afternoon there came into the shop a young lady, who brought back two books which she had had for more than a month. She made no excuses for keeping the books longer than the prescribed time, but simply handed them in and paid her fine. Mr. Tolman did not like to take this money, for it was the first of the kind he had received; but the young lady looked a if she was well able to afford the luxury of keeping books over their time, and business was business. So he gravely gave her her change. Then she said she would like to take out Dormstock’s Logarithms of the Diapason.