Arrow Pointing Nowhere Read Online Free PDF

in your circular. Don’t try me on it; try customers like—err—Mr. Blake Fenway.”
    This produced a choleric stare from Hall. “Fenway? A lot you seem to know about Fenway. He doesn’t buy that kind of thing, or much of anything. Not now. But he’s fond of books in his simple way, and I like to oblige him; he’s a gentleman.”
    â€œWhat’s his contemptible hobby?”
    â€œLatish American firsts, too late for big values. He likes to fill out the authors that his parents and grandparents bought as current literature; nice idea. The Fenway books are in mint condition—dare say they weren’t read. But they were bought—Howells back to Hawthorne.” J. Hall got out his handkerchief again, sneezed into it, and went on: “We were in a quandary about Henry James, because the Fenways only possessed Daisy Miller. But we think we’ll fill him out when the war’s over.”
    â€œThat will be quite a job.”
    â€œQuite. Fenway has stopped buying books until then, and who am I to protest? He’d trade, but he has nothing I want—naturally.”
    â€œNaturally.”
    â€œI have the Elsie Venner he wanted; his is the wrong one, the one that has no misprint in it. He was dreadfully dashed when he found that out. Dreadfully dashed.”
    Gamadge said: “I might take yours off your hands if you don’t stick me too much for it.”
    â€œGood God! Albert—a sale.”
    The dusty Albert appeared, smiling.
    â€œWrap up the Elsie Venner for Mr. Gamadge. We have no boys, Gamadge; will Albert have to drag it uptown for you, or will you take it yourself?”
    â€œSince you put it like that, I’ll take it myself.”
    â€œI don’t mind delivering it, Mr. Gamadge.” Albert had climbed up on a stepladder, and was removing two faded brown volumes from a shelf.
    â€œI don’t mind taking it. I’m going home in a cab—I’m not dressed for Alpine climbing. Is that novel in there for sale, Albert? The one you’re reading?”
    J. Hall stared. “Novel? Current novel? Why don’t you go to your corner rental library?”
    â€œI want to buy it.”
    Albert had retired to his desk, and was wrapping the parcel. He desisted, to say: “You can have it, Mr. Gamadge. I can get myself another on my way home.”
    â€œMighty good of you.” Gamadge handed Albert the retail price and tax, and Albert included Men Working in the package. “By the way.” Gamadge pulled on his gloves. “Did you jot my name down in pencil on one of the office envelopes, Albert, and then mail it by mistake?”
    â€œIf he did,” said J. Hall from his armchair, “I’ll fire him. We waste no stationery nowadays.”
    Albert, looking mystified, had shaken his head. “No, sir. I never jotted your name down anywhere.”
    Gamadge jerked his head towards the back room, and soundlessly inquired: “Did he ?”
    Albert shook his head again. “No, sir.”
    â€œWhat’s all this?” J. Hall craned to look at Gamadge. “Did you get such a thing?”
    â€œYes. Minor mystery; if I solve it I’ll try to remember to tell you about it.”
    â€œYou might solve Fenway’s mystery for him.”
    â€œFenway’s?” Gamadge, his parcel under his arm, went and looked at the back of J. Hall’s head. “What mystery?”
    â€œHe’s lost a plate out of an old book of views. Wants another, but I think it’s unprocurable. That collection is in private hands or museums of Americana. Not much value.”
    â€œWhat was the plate?”
    â€œColored plate of the old place they had up the Hudson—Fenbrook. I’ll advertise, but I don’t think he’ll get one.”
    â€œWhen did he discover the loss?”
    â€œLast week. Telephoned me about it on Monday.”
    â€œWhat happened to his rule about not buying until after