There's a book
I've been yearning to write for a long time, and I need a desk
steady under my elbows and a roof over my head. And silly as
it seems, I'm crazy to get back to Brooklyn. My brother and
I used to live there as kids. Think of walking over the old
Bridge at sunset and seeing the towers of Manhattan against a
red sky! And those old gray cruisers down in the Navy Yard!
You don't know how tickled I am to sell out. I've sold a lot
of copies of your brother's books and I've often thought he'd
be the man to buy Parnassus if I got tired of her."
"So he would," I said. "Just the man. He'd be only too
likely to--and go maundering about in this jaunting car and
neglect the farm. But tell me about selling books. How much
profit do you make out of it? We'll be passing Mrs. Mason's
farm, by and by, and we might as well sell her something just
to make a start."
"It's very simple," he said. "I replenish my stock whenever
I go through a big town. There's always a second-hand
bookstore somewhere about, where you can pick up odds and
ends. And every now and then I write to a wholesaler in New
York for some stuff. When I buy a book I mark in the back
just what I paid for it, then I know what I can afford to sell
it for.
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