There was a well-bound history
of the United States for forty-five cents, and a beautiful edition of
Shakspere, with steel engravings, for the small price of one dollar.
"Selling 'em off cheap," cried the vender, putting several volumes in
Richard's hands. "Take 'em right along. You'll miss the opportunity
of a lifetime if you don't."
"They are very nice," replied the boy. "But I guess I won't take any
to-night."
"You'd better. They may be all gone by to-morrow. This is only a job
lot, and dirt cheap."
"No, I guess not," and Richard put the books reluctantly back on the
stand.
"Give you a special discount of ten per cent," persisted the dealer.
"No; I haven't the money."
"Oh! Well, come around to-morrow. I'll lay the books aside for you."
"No, don't do that. I may not be back," and without waiting for further
words, Richard hurried off.
Meanwhile Doc Linyard, all unconscious of what was transpiring, had
gone on ahead, and when Richard looked around for him, the old sailor
was nowhere to be seen.
Rather startled, the boy hurried along to catch up. But under the
Elevated Railroad and down by the Brooklyn Bridge all was confusion
and jam, and in a moment Richard realized that he had lost his friend.
He hurried along several blocks, and then just as rapidly retraced his
steps.
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