The Haunted Bookshop by Christopher Morley (parable of the sower read online TXT) 📕

Well, I’ve been scribbling away all this time and haven’t given you any news whatever. Helen came back the other day from a visit to Boston where she enjoyed herself greatly. Tonight she has gone out to the movies with a young protégée of ours, Miss Titania Chapman, an engaging damsel whom we have taken in as an apprentice bookseller. It’s a quaint idea, done at the request of her father, Mr. Chapman, the proprietor of Chapman’s Daintybits which you see advertised everywhere. He is a great booklover, and is very eager to have the zeal transmitted to his daughter. So you can imagine my glee to have a neophyte of my own to preach books at! Also it will enable me to get away from the shop a little more. I had a telephone call from Philadelphia this afternoon asking me to go over there on Monday evening to make an estimate of the value of a private collection that is to be sold. I was rather flattered because I can’t imagine how they got hold of my name.

Forgive this long, incoherent scrawl. How did you like Erewhon? It’s pretty near closing time and I must say grace over the day’s accounts.

Yours ever,

Roger Mifflin.

Roger had just put Carlyle’s Cromwell back in its proper place in the History alcove when Helen and Titania returned from the movies. Bock, who had been dozing under his master’s chair, rose politely and wagged a deferential tail.

“I do think Bock has the darlingest manners,” said Titania.

“Yes,” said Helen, “it’s really a marvel that his wagging muscles aren’t all worn out, he has abused them so.”

“Well,” said Roger, “did you have a good time?”

“An adorable time!” cried Titania, with a face and voice so sparkling that two musty habitués of the shop popped their heads out of the alcoves marked “Essays” and “Theology” and peered in amazement. One of these even went so far as to purchase the copy of Leigh Hunt’s Wishing Cap Papers he had been munching through, in order to have an excuse to approach the group and satisfy his bewildered eyes. When Miss Chapman took the book and wrapped it up for him, his astonishment was made complete.

Unconscious that she was actually creating business, Titania resumed.

“We met your friend Mr. Gilbert on the street,” she said, “and he went to the movies with us. He says he’s coming in on Monday to fix the furnace while you’re away.”

“Well,” said Roger, “these advertising agencies are certainly enterprising, aren’t they? Think of sending a man over to attend to my furnace, just on the slim chance of getting my advertising account.”

“Did you have a quiet evening?” said Helen.

“I spent most of the time writing to Andrew,” said Roger. “One amusing thing happened, though. I actually sold that copy of Philip Dru.”

“No!” cried Helen.

“A fact,” said Roger. “A man was looking at it, and I told him it was supposed to be written by Colonel House. He insisted on buying it. But what a sell when he tries to read it!”

“Did Colonel House really write it?” asked Titania.

“I don’t know,” said Roger. “I hope not, because I find in myself a secret tendency to believe that Mr. House is an able man. If he did write it, I devoutly hope none of the foreign statesmen in Paris will learn of that fact.”

While Helen and Titania took off their wraps, Roger was busy closing up the shop. He went down to the corner with Bock to mail his letter, and when he returned to the den Helen had prepared a large jug of cocoa. They sat down by the fire to enjoy it.

“Chesterton has written a very savage poem against cocoa,” said Roger, “which you will find in The Flying Inn; but for my part I find it the ideal evening drink. It lets the mind down gently, and paves the way for slumber. I have often noticed that the most terrific philosophical agonies can be allayed by three cups of Mrs. Mifflin’s cocoa. A man can safely read Schopenhauer all evening if he has a tablespoonful of cocoa and a tin of condensed milk available. Of course it should be made with condensed milk, which is the only way.”

“I had no idea anything could be so good,” said Titania. “Of course, Daddy makes condensed milk in one of his factories, but I never dreamed of trying it. I thought it was only used by explorers, people at the North Pole, you know.”

“How stupid of me!” exclaimed Roger. “I quite forgot to tell you! Your father called up just after you had gone out this evening, and wanted to know how you were getting on.”

“Oh, dear,” said Titania. “He must have been delighted to hear I was at the movies, on the second day of my first job! He probably said it was just like me.”

“I explained that I had insisted on your going with Mrs. Mifflin, because I felt she needed the change.”

“I do hope,” said Titania, “you won’t let Daddy poison your mind about me. He thinks I’m dreadfully frivolous, just because I look frivolous. But I’m so keen to make good in this job. I’ve been practicing doing up parcels all afternoon, so as to learn how to tie the string nicely and not cut it until after the knot’s tied. I found that when you cut it beforehand either you get it too short and it won’t go round, or else too long and you waste some. Also I’ve learned how to make wrapping paper cuffs to keep my sleeves clean.”

“Well, I haven’t finished yet,” continued Roger. “Your father wants us all to spend tomorrow out at your home. He wants to show us some books he has just bought, and besides he thinks maybe you’re feeling homesick.”

“What, with all these lovely books to read? Nonsense! I don’t want to go home for six months!”

“He wouldn’t take No