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 of this reasonable request possible. Then he attended the youth's return.

Presently the workman came back into the room and accepted Paul's interrupted invitation. The rain continued to beat against the resounding panes, the fire crackled, but for a time neither of the men spoke. It became evident to Paul, at last, that a person with so much poise would never speak unless he had something to say and some good reason for saying it.

Will you have a little drink? Paul suggested.

Thank you, I don't drink, the young man replied, his gaze directed towards the cheer of the fire.

Smoke? Paul offered him the contents of a crystal box.

Not that either. The young man smiled.

Suddenly Paul broke out: See here. . . Then: How the devil does it happen that you're a furnace-man?

I'm not. At any rate, after tonight I'm not. I've done that. You appear to possess an excellent library.

It's not mine, at least most of it isn't. These—Paul swept his arm towards the full cases which lined the walls—are bindings, not books. I doubt if you'd find anything to read, there.

I'm not so sure.

What do you like to read?

Instead of replying to this question, the young