Comes a Stranger by E.R. Punshon

people dancing attendance on kings or great nobles could read them while they were waiting for admittance—at least they could if they had good eyesight. Now the Aldine books—serious scholarship and clear and lovely printing. They were the first to think of making printing fine. And there they all are, on my shelves. Not a gap.”
    â€œI suppose they’ll be worth a lot of money,” Bobby said.
    Mr. Broast bestowed on him another and still more baleful glare.
    â€œWe don’t use the money measure of value here,” he snapped. “I’ve no idea what they would fetch at auction, if that’s what you mean.” He paused to give those serried ranks of ancient books just such a look as a mother bestows upon her new-born child. “The whole history of early European printing, of the birth of European thought is there,” he said slowly. “Those shelves, Mr. Owen, tell the growth of the human mind during those years—and I can give you no idea of their monetary value.”
    â€œI’m sure it’s awfully interesting,” said Bobby meekly, feeling a bit suppressed.
    â€œMoney value is a kind of measure of general value, don’t you think, Mr. Broast?” asked Olive, rallying to Bobby’s rescue.
    â€œI daresay you’re right, my dear young lady,” agreed Mr. Broast, benevolent again.
    With those swift, sure movements of his, light on his feet for all his white hairs as any youthful athlete, he passed on a few yards and paused before other shelves, beckoning Bobby and Olive as he did so to follow him.
    â€œThere,” he said, pointing to one of the higher shelves. “You see those Miltons? Now they have a money value, more accidental than real in a sense. I expect you know there were eight issues of the first edition of the Paradise Lost .”
    Bobby tried to look as if this fact had been familiar to him since childhood. Olive however said:
    â€œI thought a first edition meant it all came out at once?”
    â€œAll printed at once,” Mr. Broast corrected her. “There was no demand at first. Perhaps you do know,” he added, with a sidelong, slightly malicious look at Bobby, “the story that Milton sold the poem for £5. He was probably still suspect as an adherent of the Puritan party and no one wanted to have too much to do with him or his writings. So when Paradise Lost was printed, only a few copies were issued for sale. When they had all been bought then a few more were bound up and put on the market. There were eight of these issues altogether, each with a different title page, during the two years from 1667 to 1669 till the whole printing was disposed of. Well, copies of each issue are on that shelf. That has what I call genuine value—genuine bibliographical value. But they have, too, a very much increased money value because each single copy has association value from having belonged to some celebrated man. The signature of Lord Shaftesbury is in one volume, the bookplate of Samuel Pepys is in another, though I had to take off one or two of no interest that had been put over it. There’s the bookplate of his friend, William Hewer, in another, and the last of the series has Dryden’s signature. If it is ever necessary to sell—I hope it won’t, but maintenance costs are heavy and of course we’re private and independent so we don’t get any help. But if sale is ever necessary, and I would rather part with association books than others if I have to, I expect the set would fetch a big price. I’ve been offered £5,000, but I was able to say ‘No, thank you’ at the time. If I have to sell, it will be at auction, and we shall see what we shall see. Probably some rich fool,” he added, looking vicious, “will buy them just for showing off and boasting and publicity.”
    â€œIsn’t it rather wonderful to have found them all belonging to famous people?” Olive