OCR Text |
Show HIS BLESSED DAMOZEL Qj IZOLA FORRESTER. Creston discovered tho llttlo book on the lower left hand shelf In tho back of tho shop. He had been limiting limit-ing a second-hand copy of "Vleux Paris," and hero on top of the dusty calf-bound folios lay the fragile, fragrant fra-grant volume. It was fragrant. Ho lifted It cautiously cau-tiously to his faco. The soft hand-tooled, hand-tooled, fawn leather was odorous with some Indefinable scent that stole along the nerves ond stirred old dreams. Creston half cloBed his eyes and thought of wide desert reaches and n llttlo purple silhouetto of moving camels splashed up against tho golden sky. Ho stood a moment, crushing It lrrosolutely In his hand, rolling the velvety leather, feeling tho oxquhlto texture of tho paper, running his oyes over tho old familiar lines, "The Blessed Damozol leaned out, From tho gold bar of heaven." How undor tho light of Manhattan's sky had Roaettl's ethereal lady of tho deep blue found her way on those huge dusty architectural tomes In Tuckor's bookshop? "Er-Tucker, you might put this In with tho rest," Creston remarked quite casually, when he had finished his selections. Old Tucker glanced sidelong from tho book he was enjoying. "That one, Mr. CroBton?" ho asked, sitting up suddenly. "This little book or Rosettt selections." selec-tions." "Not for Bale," returned Tuckor. "The book does not belong to me." Creston looked at tho lnnor blank leaf. It boro a namo, "Wnnda Phlllpps." It sang In his brain as he went out. Every time ho camo bac': to tho shop he found tho little book i i Its-place Its-place on top of Nuremberg etchings and old Munich studies. And each tlmo ho held It, he would look at tho namo and- turn tho pages over with a curious thrill of expectancy "How long will you wait for her to como back?" he nsked ono day Tucker glanced up Bhnrply as If someone had broken u lock on a very private drawer In his life "Sho may como any day," ho told him gruffly "It stnjs there until she does." "I would bo willing to return It to hor If you know whero sho lives?' Tucker considered the acquest, stroking his whlto beard thoughtfully. Suddenly the old fellow tilted his head to one side and chuckled, "Sho left In a tiff, Mr Cicston. Sho had been dropping In hero off and on for a year, picking up ono look after another. Ono day I found that volumo of RoBettl and It seemed lo belong be-long to her. Tho day she left it, sho camo to sell me back tv'o tr threo books, and I would not tuke them." "You've wasted time w'tlng for her to como back. Tell me where sho lives, an 1 I will take tho book back. Let mo nko the book with me r.ow." "Tako It." said Tucker, slowly. Creston went down Lexington avo-nuo avo-nuo straight towards his own homo square. But it Is a curious square. One short block makes all the differ ence In Its caste environment. Creston Cres-ton occupied a very comfortni;'.' hacli-olor hacli-olor sulto on Its south side, Th" old studio building was east of Third nvenuo. He was bending over the nnnow lino of name plates at the piesa buttons when he caught the fcf-snt, and turned. She was slipping her key Into tho lock of tho door, a splendor girl with a mass of wind blown reddish red-dish hair, and an eager, Ivorv whito faco. It was his Blessed Damoiel with New York snow flakes on hor llttlo fur toquo, nnd even- In the narrow marble vestibule ho know thnt faint fragranco that had clung, about the little book. He drew It ftom his coat' pocket and held It out to hur. "Oh, whero did you get it?" Just the least emphasis on the pronoun. "Mr. Tuckor was certain you had been 111, -or you would have como for It." "Ho sent you with It?" Ho liked tho llttlo ring of challenge in tho tono of this. "I thought I hud lost It some-whoro some-whoro else." "I tried to buy it from tho old man, but ho would not sell of course," ho stumbled on recklessly. "You seo It Is a very rnro little booV. I wrnted to copy ono or two bits from it If I might. I would return It eo-i. She held It out to him ul:kl). "If you aro a friend of Mr. Tuckor's, I don't mind." "I am a friend," said Creston, gravo ly, "nnd moro, I am jour uolghbor. 1 live Just over In Grani"rcy park." "You might malt It," she suggested. "I don't wont to moll It." Tuckor hardly seemed to notlco either of them tho next day. Ho sot burled behind a newly discovered treasure while they talked, "The book Is up In my dea. Tucker, and so Is she. Wo Rro maided yesterday." |