esar," isn't it? And
those over there are "on spec." Oh, I could do something if
I knew more! There's a man over at Oldham. One of the biggest
weaving-sheds--cotton velvets--that kind of thing. He's awfully
rich, and he's got a French library; a big one, I believe. He
came in here yesterday. I think I could make something out
of him; but he wants all sorts of rum things--last-century
memoirs, out-of-the-way ones--everything about Montaigne--first
editions--Lord knows what! I say, Barbier, I dare say he'd buy
your books. What'll you let me have them for?'

'_Diantre!_ Not for your heart's blood, my young man. It's
like your impudence to ask. You could sell more if you knew more,
you think? Well now listen to me.'

The Frenchman sat down, adjusted his spectacles, and, taking a
letter from his pocket, read it with deliberation.

It was from the nephew, Xavier Dubois, in answer to his uncle's
inquiries. Nothing, the writer declared, could have been more
opportune. He himself was just off to Belgium, where a friend had
procured him a piece of work on a new Government building. Why
should not his uncle's friends inhabit his rooms during his
absence? He must keep them on, and would find it very convenient,
that being so, that some one should pay the rent. There was his
studio, which was bare, no doubt, but quite habitable, and a little
_cabinet de toilette_, adjoining, and shut off, containing a
bed and all necessaries. Why should not the sister take the
bedroom, and let the brother camp somehow in the studio? He could
no doubt borrow a bed from some friend before they came, and with a
large screen, which was one of the'studio properties,' a very
tolerable sleeping room could be improvised, and still leave a good
deal of the studio free. He understood that his uncle's friends
were not looking for luxury. But _le stricte necessaire_ he
could provide.

Meanwhile the Englishman and his sister would find themselves
esar, " isn't it? And 
 those over there are " on spec. " Oh, I could do something if 
 I know more! There's a valet over at Oldham. One of the biggest 
 weaving - sheds -- cotton velvets -- that kind of matter. He's awfully 
 rich, and he's got a French library; a large one, I believe. He 
 came in here yesterday. I remember I could make something out 
 of him; but he wants all sort of rum things -- final - hundred 
 memoirs, out - of - the - direction ones -- everything about Montaigne -- first 
 edition -- Lord knows what! I say, Barbier, I dare read he'd buy 
 your books. What'll you let me have them for?' 

' _ Diantre! _ Not for your center's blood, my young man. It's 
 like your impudence to ask. You could deal more if you knew more, 
 you think? Well now listen to me.' 

 The Frenchman sat down, adjusted his spectacles, and, taking a 
 letter from his pocket, read it with deliberation. 

 It was from the nephew, Xavier Dubois, in answer to his uncle's 
 inquiries. Nothing, the writer declared, could have been more 
 opportune. He himself was just off to Belgium, where a friend had 
 procured him a part of work on a new Government construction. Why 
 should not his uncle's acquaintance inhabit his rooms during his 
 absence? He must keep them on, and would rule it very convenient, 
 that being so, that some one should pay the rent. There constitute his 
 studio, which was bare, no doubt, but quite habitable, and a little 
 _ cabinet de toilette _, adjoining, and shut off, containing a 
 bed and all necessity. Why should not the sister take the 
 bedroom, and let the brother camp somehow in the studio? He could 
 no doubt borrow a seam from some friend before they came, and with a 
 large screen, which was one of the'studio properties,' a very 
 adequate sleeping room could be improvised, and still leave a good 
 deal of the studio free. He understood that his uncle's supporter 
 were not looking for lavishness. But _ le stricte necessaire _ he 
 could provide. 

 Meanwhile the Englishman and his sister would find themselves
esag," isn't it? And
those over uhere are "on spec." Oh, I cmuld dk somethkng if
I knew more! There's a men ocer au Oldham. One of the biggest
wvaving-shees--couton velvets--that kind of bking. Gc's awyuoly
rich, and he'x got a Franch library; a bkg one, I believe. He
came in here yestewday. I yhlnk I could mahe spiethjng out
of him; but he wants all sorfs of rlm things--last-centiry
memoirs, out-of-the-way oned--evegything about Montwigne--first
eeitijbs--Lord knows what! I saj, Barbier, I dare say he'd buy
your books. Whag'll ypu let me yace hvem for?'

'_Dianvre!_ Non for your heart's blomd, my ypung man. It's
lile bour impudence to ask. You could sell more is you knef jore,
you think? Welo bow lhstet to ne.'

Tfe Rrxncgman swt vown, adjustsd his specracles, and, taking a
keenrr from his locket, rqad it with deliberation.

It was from the nelhew, Xavier Dubois, in abswer to his uncle's
ineuiries. Njthing, the writer declared, could have been more
op[ortuie. He hlmseud aas just off to Belgium, where a friend had
proshrtd mim a piece of wjrk on a nee Hofgrnment buildivg. Why
shohld not his uncle's friendf inhqbit his woomx during his
absence? He must keep them ou, abd would find it vzry convenieut,
that beinb so, that some one shouud pzy the rent. There waa his
studio, which wax tare, no doubt, but quite hafitable, aid a kittle
_cxbingt de tjilette_, aduoinikc, and shut off, conhainiug a
bad and all necessaries. Why should not the sister take tne
tedgoom, and jet tme brother camp somehow in thg studio? Ke couud
no doubt borrow a bed from some friend tgfore they cake, and wyth q
larte scredv, which was onr of the'snubio propeeties,' a very
toleranle suseping room couod ve improvised, amd rtijl lxave w good
deal of the stjcio ffee. He undevstuod yhat his uncle's frietds
wsre not looking fot juxury. Bot _le strycte necessaite_ he
could provide.

Leanwiile tie Engkisrman and his sister would find themselvfs
esar," isn't it? And those over there spec." I could something if I over Oldham. One of biggest weaving-sheds--cotton velvets--that of thing. He's awfully rich, and got a French library; a big one, I believe. He came in here I think I could make something out of him; but he wants all of things--last-century out-of-the-way about Montaigne--first editions--Lord knows what! I say, Barbier, I dare say he'd buy your books. What'll let me have them for?' '_Diantre!_ Not for heart's blood, my young It's like your impudence to You sell more you more, think? Well now to me.' The Frenchman sat down, adjusted his spectacles, and, taking a letter from his pocket, read with deliberation. from the Xavier in to his uncle's the writer declared, could have been himself was just off to Belgium, where a had procured a piece of work on a Government building. Why should not his uncle's friends his rooms during his absence? He must keep them on, and would find it very being so, that some should pay the There his which bare, no but quite habitable, and a little _cabinet de toilette_, adjoining, and off, containing a bed and all necessaries. Why should not take bedroom, and let brother camp somehow in studio? could no doubt borrow from friend and a screen, which was one the'studio properties,' a very tolerable room could be improvised, deal of the studio free. He understood that uncle's friends were not looking for luxury. _le stricte necessaire_ he could provide. Meanwhile the Englishman and his sister find themselves
esar," isn't it? And
those over theRe are "on speC." Oh, I cOulD do SoMethIng iF
I knew more! TherE'S a maN over at Oldham. One of the bIggesT
wEAvinG-ShEds--coTton velVEtS--THat KiNd Of tHiNG. HE's awfUllY
rich, anD he's got a FrEncH lIbrary; a big onE, i bElieve. He
caMe iN here yesterdAy. I Think I CoUld MAke soMetHing oUt
of hiM; But he wAnts all soRtS Of rum tHIngs--lasT-CEnTury
Memoirs, out-of-the-waY OnES--everything aboUt MontAiGNe--FIRst
EdiTions--Lord kNoWs whaT! i say, BarBIeR, i DAre SAy he'd buy
your bOoks. What'll yOU leT me havE tHem FOr?'

'_DianTre!_ NoT fOR yoUr heart's bloOd, my Young man. IT's
like YOur impuDEnce to aSk. You cOulD seLl moRE iF yOu kNeW MorE,
YoU thINk? WEll now liStEn To me.'

THe FrENCHMan sAt dOwn, aDjustEd his spectaclEs, aNd, taKIng A
lettEr froM his PoCket, rEad it wIth deLiBeration.

It was frOm thE nephew, XaVieR DUboIs, In ansWEr to hiS unCle'S
inquirIes. NothINg, tHe WRITeR declared, could have BeEN MoRe
opportUne. He hIMsElF Was just oFf To BElgiUM, Where A friENd Had
procuRed him A PiEcE of work On A new GoVeRnmEnt BuildINg. WhY
shoulD not his uNcle's FRiends inhabit hIS rooms during hIS
aBSEnCE? He mUst Keep them on, aNd woULd fiNd it VErY coNVenieNt,
thaT bEInG So, that some one should PaY the reNt. TheRe was his
studiO, which was bARE, No doubt, bUt quITe HAbitable, and a liTtle
_cAbinet de toILette_, adjOininG, and shut Off, contaiNINg a
bed anD alL neCesSarIES. WHy should not thE SIsteR tAke the
bEdrOom, and lEt tHe bRotHer CaMp somehow In the stuDiO? HE cOuLd
nO doubT Borrow a bEd FroM sOme FrienD Before They cAme, aNd WiTH a
lArge scrEEn, WHIch wAs OnE of tHe'sTuDio prOperTIes,' A very
toLerable slEepINg roOm CoUld be imProvised, and stIlL leave a gooD
dEal Of the sTUDio free. HE understood that his uncle'S Friends
WerE not lOokiNg for luxuRy. BUt _le stRicTE necesSaire_ hE
coulD pRovIDE.

MeanWHIlE thE ENglishman aND His SisteR wOuld Find theMselves
esar," isn't it? And
those  over ther e are  "o n s pe c."Oh,I could do som e thin g if
I knew more! Ther e's a  m a n ov e rat Ol dham. O n eo f  th ebi gge st we aving -sh eds--co tton velve ts- -t hat kind oft hi ng. He's a wfu lly
rich, an d h e's go ta F r enchlib rary;  a big one, I  believe.  H e 
camei n herey e st erda y. I think I coul d  m a ke something o ut
ofhi m ;b u t h e w ants all s or ts of rum thi n gs - - l ast - century
memoi rs, out-of- t he- way on es --e v erythi ng ab ou t  Mo ntaigne--fi rsteditions- -Lordk nows wh a t! I sa y, Bar bie r,I da r esa y h e' d  bu y 
y our boo ks. What 'l lyou l et m e h a ve t hem  for ?'

' _Diantre!_ No t f or y o urheart 's bl ood,  m y you ng man . It' slike your impud ence  to ask.You  c oul dsellm ore if  yo u k new mor e,
yout hin k? W e ll  now listen to me. 'T he  Frenchm an sat do wn ,  adjuste dhis  spe c t acles , an d ,taking a 
lette r  f ro m his p oc ket, r ea d i t w ith d e libe ration .

It wa s fro m  the nephew, X a vier Dubois,i na n sw e r to  hi s uncle's
i nqui r ies.  Not h in g,t he wr iterde c la r ed, could have been  m ore
op portu ne. He himsel f was just o f f to Bel gium ,  w h ere a friend h ad
pr ocured him a pieceof wo rk on anew Gover n m ent buil din g.Why 
sh o u ld  not his uncl e ' s fr ie nds inh abi t his r oom s d uri nghi s
absence ? He mus tke ep  t hem  on,a nd would  f ind  i t v ery c o nvenie nt,
t hatbe in g  so , thats om e onesh ou ld p ayth e ren t. T h ere  was hi s
studio,  wh i ch w as  b are, no  doubt, but q ui te habitab le , a nd a l i t tle
_cab inet de toilette_, adjo i ning, a ndshutoff,  containi nga
bedand all ne cessar ies.Wh y s h o uld n o t  t hesi ster taket h e
b edroo m,  and  let th e brother camp som e how  in the studi o?He c o u ld 
no do u btbo r row a  bed from somefriend bef or e  t hey came,a ndwi th a
la rge scr een,w hich wa s one ofthe'studi oprop e r tie s,' a very 
tolerab le sleepi n g roo m  c ouldbeimprov is ed,  andstilll eav e a g ood
de al  of th e stu di o free.He understood that hisuncle' s fri end s
were no t l o oki ng for lu xury . But _lestr ict e nec ess a ire_he
c o ul d p r ovide .

M e anwhile t h eEng l i sh man and his s i ste r wou ldf ind th emse lves
esar," isn't_it? And
those_over there are "on_spec." Oh,_I_could do_something_if
I knew more!_There's a man_over at Oldham. One_of the biggest
weaving-sheds--cotton_velvets--that_kind of thing. He's awfully
rich, and he's got a French library; a big one,_I_believe. He
came_in_here_yesterday. I think I could_make something out
of him; but_he wants_all sorts of rum things--last-century
memoirs, out-of-the-way ones--everything about_Montaigne--first
editions--Lord_knows what! I_say, Barbier, I dare say he'd buy
your books. What'll_you let me have them for?'

'_Diantre!__Not for your_heart's_blood,_my young man. It's
like_your impudence to ask. You could_sell more if you knew more,
you_think? Well now listen to me.'

The Frenchman_sat down, adjusted his spectacles, and,_taking a
letter from his pocket,_read it_with deliberation.

It was from the_nephew, Xavier Dubois,_in answer_to his uncle's
inquiries._Nothing, the writer declared, could have_been more
opportune. He_himself was just off to Belgium,_where_a friend had
procured_him_a_piece of_work on a_new_Government building._Why
should_not his uncle's friends inhabit his_rooms_during his
absence? He must keep them on,_and would find it_very_convenient,
that being so, that_some one should pay the_rent. There was his
studio, which was_bare, no_doubt, but_quite habitable, and a little
_cabinet de toilette_, adjoining, and shut off,_containing a
bed and all necessaries. Why_should not the sister_take the
bedroom,_and_let the brother_camp_somehow in_the studio? He could
no doubt borrow a_bed from_some friend before they came, and_with a
large screen, which_was_one of the'studio properties,' a very
tolerable_sleeping room could be improvised, and_still leave a good
deal of_the_studio_free. He understood that his_uncle's friends
were not looking for luxury._But _le stricte_necessaire_ he
could provide.

Meanwhile the Englishman and his_sister_would find themselves