Stone
wasn’t
seeing surprised him. No computers, not even a cash register was visible from where he stood.
Reuben said, “Feels like a place you’d want to smoke a cigar in and have a tumbler or two of whiskey.”
“Oh, no, Reuben,” Caleb said in a shocked tone. “Smoke is deadly to old books. And one spilled drop can ruin a timeless treasure.”
Reuben was about to say something when a heavily carved door behind the counter opened and an old man walked out. Everyone except Caleb did a double take because the gentleman’s silvery beard was long and flowed down across his chest, and his long white hair cascaded down past his shoulders. His costume was even more eye-catching. Over his tall, potbellied frame he wore a full-length lavender robe with gold stripes across the sleeve. His rimless oval glasses were perched on his long wrinkled forehead, where wisps of grizzled hair lay in an untidy fashion. His eyes were, yes, they were black, Stone decided, unless the poor light was playing a trick on him.
“Is he a monk?” Reuben whispered to Caleb.
“Shh!” Caleb hissed as the man came forward.
“Well?” Pearl said, looking at Caleb expectantly. “Are you Shaw?”
“Yes.”
“What is your matter of urgency?” Pearl suddenly glared at the others. “And who are these people?”
Caleb quickly introduced them, using only their first names.
Pearl’s gaze lingered the longest on Stone. “I have seen you in Lafayette Park, have I not? In a tent, sir?” he said with exaggerated formality.
“You have,” Stone replied.
Pearl continued, “Your sign says, if I recall correctly, ‘I want the truth.’ Have you found it?”
“I can’t say that I have.”
Pearl said, “Well, if I were inclined to seek the truth, I don’t believe I would start my search across from the White House.” Pearl turned back to Caleb. “Now, your business, sir?” he said briskly.
Caleb hastily explained about his being appointed DeHaven’s literary executor and his request about the appraisal.
“Yes, it was certainly a tragedy about DeHaven,” Pearl said solemnly. “And
you’ve
been named his literary executor, have you?” he added in a surprised tone.
“I helped Jonathan with his collection, and we worked together at the library,” he answered defensively.
“I see,” Pearl replied tersely. “But you still require an expert’s eye, obviously.”
Caleb turned slightly pink. “Uh, well, yes. We have an inventory of the collection on Milton’s laptop.”
“I would much prefer to deal in paper,” Pearl replied firmly.
“If you have a printer here, I can take care of that,” Milton said.
Pearl shook his head. “I have a printing press, but it’s from the sixteenth century, and I doubt it’s compatible with your contraption.”
“No, it wouldn’t be,” mumbled a shocked Milton. A devoted lover of all things technological, he was obviously stunned at Pearl’s lack thereof.
“Well, we can print one out and bring it to you tomorrow,” Caleb suggested. He hesitated and then said, “Mr. Pearl, I might as well come right out and say it. Jonathan has a first-edition
Bay Psalm Book
in his collection. Did you know about it?”
Pearl lowered his glasses onto his eyes. “Excuse me, what did you say?”
“Jonathan has a 1640
Bay Psalm Book.
”
“That is not possible.”
“I held it.”
“No, you did not.”
“I did!” Caleb insisted.
Pearl waved a hand dismissively. “It’s a later edition, then. Hardly earth-shattering.”
“It has no music. That started with the ninth edition in 1698.”
Pearl eyed Caleb severely. “Doubtless you won’t be surprised to learn that I am aware of that. But, as you point out, there are
seven
other editions that have no music.”
“It was the 1640 edition. The year was printed on the title page.”
“Then, my dear sir, it’s either a facsimile or a forgery. People are very clever. One ambitious fellow re-created the
Oath of a Freeman,
which
wasn’t
seeing surprised him. No computers, not even a cash register was visible from where he stood.
Reuben said, “Feels like a place you’d want to smoke a cigar in and have a tumbler or two of whiskey.”
“Oh, no, Reuben,” Caleb said in a shocked tone. “Smoke is deadly to old books. And one spilled drop can ruin a timeless treasure.”
Reuben was about to say something when a heavily carved door behind the counter opened and an old man walked out. Everyone except Caleb did a double take because the gentleman’s silvery beard was long and flowed down across his chest, and his long white hair cascaded down past his shoulders. His costume was even more eye-catching. Over his tall, potbellied frame he wore a full-length lavender robe with gold stripes across the sleeve. His rimless oval glasses were perched on his long wrinkled forehead, where wisps of grizzled hair lay in an untidy fashion. His eyes were, yes, they were black, Stone decided, unless the poor light was playing a trick on him.
“Is he a monk?” Reuben whispered to Caleb.
“Shh!” Caleb hissed as the man came forward.
“Well?” Pearl said, looking at Caleb expectantly. “Are you Shaw?”
“Yes.”
“What is your matter of urgency?” Pearl suddenly glared at the others. “And who are these people?”
Caleb quickly introduced them, using only their first names.
Pearl’s gaze lingered the longest on Stone. “I have seen you in Lafayette Park, have I not? In a tent, sir?” he said with exaggerated formality.
“You have,” Stone replied.
Pearl continued, “Your sign says, if I recall correctly, ‘I want the truth.’ Have you found it?”
“I can’t say that I have.”
Pearl said, “Well, if I were inclined to seek the truth, I don’t believe I would start my search across from the White House.” Pearl turned back to Caleb. “Now, your business, sir?” he said briskly.
Caleb hastily explained about his being appointed DeHaven’s literary executor and his request about the appraisal.
“Yes, it was certainly a tragedy about DeHaven,” Pearl said solemnly. “And
you’ve
been named his literary executor, have you?” he added in a surprised tone.
“I helped Jonathan with his collection, and we worked together at the library,” he answered defensively.
“I see,” Pearl replied tersely. “But you still require an expert’s eye, obviously.”
Caleb turned slightly pink. “Uh, well, yes. We have an inventory of the collection on Milton’s laptop.”
“I would much prefer to deal in paper,” Pearl replied firmly.
“If you have a printer here, I can take care of that,” Milton said.
Pearl shook his head. “I have a printing press, but it’s from the sixteenth century, and I doubt it’s compatible with your contraption.”
“No, it wouldn’t be,” mumbled a shocked Milton. A devoted lover of all things technological, he was obviously stunned at Pearl’s lack thereof.
“Well, we can print one out and bring it to you tomorrow,” Caleb suggested. He hesitated and then said, “Mr. Pearl, I might as well come right out and say it. Jonathan has a first-edition
Bay Psalm Book
in his collection. Did you know about it?”
Pearl lowered his glasses onto his eyes. “Excuse me, what did you say?”
“Jonathan has a 1640
Bay Psalm Book.
”
“That is not possible.”
“I held it.”
“No, you did not.”
“I did!” Caleb insisted.
Pearl waved a hand dismissively. “It’s a later edition, then. Hardly earth-shattering.”
“It has no music. That started with the ninth edition in 1698.”
Pearl eyed Caleb severely. “Doubtless you won’t be surprised to learn that I am aware of that. But, as you point out, there are
seven
other editions that have no music.”
“It was the 1640 edition. The year was printed on the title page.”
“Then, my dear sir, it’s either a facsimile or a forgery. People are very clever. One ambitious fellow re-created the
Oath of a Freeman,
which
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