Warning Hill by John P. Marquand Read Free Book Online Page B

to sit down. It was just a moment’s whim, a slight indulgence. Perhaps the sight of the ridiculous checked suit and the frayed cravat with its antiquated pin and the whole effort of patched and broken grandeur to look new may have amused him—giving possession a new and pleasant taste.
    â€œSit down, Michael,” said Grafton Jellett. “A little whisky—no? It’s not bad whisky, a special distiller’s selection … Ho, hum! … I’m just amusing myself cutting a first edition—‘Jane Eyre’—a presentation copy.”
    â€œAh?” said Alfred Michael. “Are you?”
    He lowered himself into one of the leather chairs and glanced at the book which Mr. Jellett held toward him. To look at Alfred Michael no one could have told that his world was on the verge of ruin. He looked at the book with a genuine interest. Grafton Jellett looked at him placidly, as one who had seen many men like Alfred Michael. Tommy could imagine he must have looked opaque and very dull.
    â€œAn expensive habit, perhaps,” remarked Mr. Jellett, “this cutting a first edition. Expensive—but amusing.”
    Alfred Michael smiled again. “Why expensive?” he inquired.
    â€œI see,” said Grafton Jellett, “that you don’t know the amenities of book collecting. There’s a peculiar premium on uncut books.”
    â€œYes, I know that.” Alfred Michael looked puzzled. He leaned forward and his forehead wrinkled delicately. “But I don’t understand you. Why expensive?”
    â€œEh?” said Grafton Jellett. “Why expensive?”
    He spoke with his old dullness, but he looked at Alfred Michael carefully, and no longer with amusement. “You’ve got something up your sleeve. What is it?”
    There he sat in strong silence. He was competing with something which he could not grasp for the moment. He drew back his head in cold caution, though his glance did not falter. For some reason utterly beyond the limits of logic, Alfred Michael had exploded into laughter. It must have been a strange sight—Alfred Michael without a cent in the world, leaning back and laughing at Grafton Jellett in his private room on Warning Hill.
    â€œWhy, you poor devil!” gasped Alfred Michael.
    â€œEh?” said Mr. Jellett. His face had become pinkish. His sandy eyebrows drew together. “What in thunder are you driving at?”
    â€œExcuse me,” said Alfred Michael; “here you are getting pleasure out of cutting rare editions and you haven’t been cutting them at all.”
    â€œWhat the devil?” Grafton Jellett was actually losing his grip. “How do you mean I haven’t been cutting this book?”
    â€œIt’s simply because we’re all so technical,” Alfred Michael smiled indulgently. “I hope you won’t be annoyed at missing a technicality. In the parlance of the book collector, Mr. Jellett, you’re not cutting that book. You’re merely opening it.”
    â€œEh?” said Grafton Jellett. At least he was far from dull. He raised a hand to stroke his spare sandy hair. “Opening it?”
    Alfred Michael nodded. “Idiotic way of putting it—isn’t it? Don’t think I blame you for being confused. ‘Opening’ is what they call cutting the leaves of a book. ‘Cutting’ is something else again.”
    â€œEh?” said Mr. Jellett. “Something else again?”
    â€œCutting,” replied Alfred Michael, “refers to the binder’s habit of cutting down the margins when he gives the books new covers. That is what an ‘uncut’ means in the catalogues. The paper has its original edge, rough and unfinished. The actual act of opening the leaves has a very small influence on sales. You understand me now?”
    â€œYes,” said Grafton Jellett. Suddenly he doubled up his fist and slammed it into the palm of his hand.