Short Fiction by M. R. James (inspirational books for women TXT) 📕

book out. Yes, if he were on the list of those to whom that privilege was given. He produced his card⁠—Mr. John Eldred⁠—and, the register being consulted, a favourable answer was given. “Now, another point,” said he. “It is a long time since I was here, and I do not know my way about your building; besides, it is near closing-time, and it is bad for me to hurry up and down stairs. I have here the title of the book I want: is there anyone at liberty who could go and find it for me?” After a moment’s thought the doorkeeper beckoned to a young man who was passing. “Mr. Garrett,” he said, “have you a minute to assist this gentleman?” “With pleasure,” was Mr. Garrett’s answer. The slip with the title was handed to him. “I think I can put my hand on this; it happens to be in the class I inspected last quarter, but I’ll just look it up in the catalogue to make sure. I suppose it is that particular edition that you require, sir?” “Yes, if you please; that, and no other,” said Mr. Eldred; “I am exceedingly obliged to you.” “Don’t mention it I beg, sir,” said Mr. Garrett, and hurried off.

“I thought so,” he said to himself, when his finger, travelling down the pages of the catalogue, stopped at a particular entry. “Talmud: Tractate Middoth, with the commentary of Nachmanides, Amsterdam, 1707. 11.3.34. Hebrew class, of course. Not a very difficult job this.”

Mr. Eldred, accommodated with a chair in the vestibule, awaited anxiously the return of his messenger⁠—and his disappointment at seeing an empty-handed Mr. Garrett running down the staircase was very evident. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, sir,” said the young man, “but the book is out.” “Oh dear!” said Mr. Eldred, “is that so? You are sure there can be no mistake?” “I don’t think there is much chance of it, sir; but it’s possible, if you like to wait a minute, that you might meet the very gentleman that’s got it. He must be leaving the library soon, and I think I saw him take that particular book out of the shelf.” “Indeed! You didn’t recognize him, I suppose? Would it be one of the professors or one of the students?” “I don’t think so: certainly not a professor. I should have known him; but the light isn’t very good in that part of the library at this time of day, and I didn’t see his face. I should have said he was a shortish old gentleman, perhaps a clergyman, in a cloak. If you could wait, I can easily find out whether he wants the book very particularly.”

“No, no,” said Mr. Eldred, “I won’t⁠—I can’t wait now, thank you⁠—no. I must be off. But I’ll call again tomorrow if I may, and perhaps you could find out who has it.”

“Certainly, sir, and I’ll have the book ready for you if we⁠—” But Mr. Eldred was already off, and hurrying more than one would have thought wholesome for him.

Garrett had a few moments to spare; and, thought he, “I’ll go back to that case and see if I can find the old man. Most likely he could put off using the book for a few days. I dare say the other one doesn’t want to keep it for long.” So off with him to the Hebrew class. But when he got there it was unoccupied, and the volume marked 11.3.34 was in its place on the shelf. It was vexatious to Garrett’s self-respect to have disappointed an inquirer with so little reason: and he would have liked, had it not been against library rules, to take the book down to the vestibule then and there, so that it might be ready for Mr. Eldred when he called. However, next morning he would be on the look out for him, and he begged the doorkeeper to send and let him know when the moment came. As a matter of fact, he was himself in the vestibule when Mr. Eldred arrived, very soon after the library opened, and when hardly anyone besides the staff were in the building.

“I’m very sorry,” he said; “it’s not often that I make such a stupid mistake, but I did feel sure that the old gentleman I saw took out that very book and kept it in his hand without opening it, just as people do, you know, sir, when they mean to take a book out of the library and not merely refer to it. But, however, I’ll run up now at once and get it for you this time.”

And here intervened a pause. Mr. Eldred paced the entry, read all the notices, consulted his watch, sat and gazed up the staircase, did all that a very impatient man could, until some twenty minutes had run out. At last he addressed himself to the doorkeeper and inquired if it was a very long way to that part of the library to which Mr. Garrett had gone.

“Well, I was thinking it was funny, sir: he’s a quick man as a rule, but to be sure he might have been sent for by the libarian, but even so I think he’d have mentioned to him that you was waiting. I’ll just speak him up on the toob and see.” And to the tube he addressed himself. As he absorbed the reply to his question his face changed, and he made one or two supplementary inquiries which were shortly answered. Then he came forward to his counter and spoke in a lower tone. “I’m sorry to hear, sir, that something seems to have ’appened a little awkward. Mr. Garrett has been took poorly, it appears, and the libarian sent him ’ome in a cab the other way. Something of an attack, by what I can hear.” “What, really? Do you mean that someone has injured him?” “No, sir, not violence ’ere, but, as I should judge, attacted with an attack, what you might term it, of illness. Not a strong constitootion, Mr. Garrett. But