Figgs & Phantoms by Ellen Raskin Read Free Book Online

screeched into the lot as Florence was scampering out of his Very Private Office.
    â€œSorry, I overslept,” he apologized, settling into the front seat. “Good thing you sent Fido to wake me. I thought it was one of your dogs scratching at the bus until I looked out the window. I can’t imagine why he ran away when he saw me.”
    Kadota backed the car out of the lot so swiftly he nearly ran down a woman with a package the size of a shoebox under her arm.
    â€œFiggs!” hissed Mrs. Lumpholtz.

    Florence spent the long drive explaining the difficulties of completing a Joseph Conrad collection to Mona. “Many of the first editions are still easy enough to find. Even his first book, Almayer’s Folly , is obtainable, though it is expensive. But the true 1913 edition of Chance is rare, very rare.”
    â€œWhy do you need first editions when you can read a book in paperback?” Kadota asked.
    â€œWhy do you collect dogs?” Mona replied. Kadota remained silent for the rest of the trip, trying to think of an answer.
    Florence continued. “The impossible book to find is the original The Nigger of the Narcissus.”
    Mona gasped.
    â€œThe British printed only seven, for copyright purposes. The Americans then published what is now considered the first edition, under the title Children of the Sea . ”
    â€œThat’s much better,” Mona said.
    â€œI don’t agree,” Florence replied, “but read the book, even in paperback if you have to; then decide for yourself.” (Read, Mona, read, he thought to himself. Find friends in books when I am gone.)
    â€œHere we are,” Kadota announced. “And if my eyes don’t deceive me, the sign is another one of Truman Figg’s misspelled masterpieces.”

    There was still time to examine the books before the sale began. The Conrads were in fine condition. Mona counted the pages of advertisements at the back of the books to make certain the first editions were complete.
    â€œLook at this, Mona.” Florence was studying a colorplate book of butterflies. “See how the colors change subtly from lavender to purple to violet?”
    Mona glanced hastily at the engraving, then surveyed the shelves of books to be auctioned. “Can we bid on other books if they are good buys?”
    Florence sighed. “Let’s just concentrate on the Conrads, and you can do the bidding.”
    Delighted, Mona rushed to the front row to save two seats. She wanted to be sure of being seen by the auctioneer.

    â€œNumber 34,” the auctioneer called out. “Clemens. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Who’ll start the bidding at a hundred dollars? I have a hundred. One-ten. One-twenty....”
    Mona had been twisting around to locate bidders on the earlier lots; now she sat forward, biting her lips, eyes fixed on the auctioneer, afraid of missing her opportunity.
    â€œSold, at one hundred and seventy-five dollars to the gentleman in the third row.”
    One more number to go.
    â€œNumber 35. Coleridge. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner . I have a bid for twenty-five. Thirty, thirty-five. Fifty. Do I hear fifty-five? Sold, at fifty dollars, to the lady standing in the rear.
    â€œNumber 36. Conrad. The Secret Agent. I have a bid of twenty-five. Thirty in the fifth row, forty in the rear, forty-five, fifty, sixty dollars is bid by the gentleman in the seventh row, seventy in the rear. Do I hear seventy-five?”
    Mona’s mouth was too dry to speak. Florence, arms folded, calmly waited for her to enter the bidding.
    â€œGoing at seventy, going, going....”
    â€œSeventy-five,” Mona gasped, waving her catalogue in the air. The auctioneer looked at Florence, who nodded his approval.
    â€œI have a bid of seventy-five dollars in the first row. Anyone say eighty?”
    The seconds passed like hours as the auctioneer scanned the silent audience.
    â€œSold at seventy-five dollars to the young