“The shop,” Joe went on, “was settled—­settled upon me, long ago.”  The verb “to settle” is capable of conveying large and vague impressions.  “But after all, what’s the good of this place to a sailor?”

“The good—­the good of this place?” Mr. James’s cheek flushed.  “Why, to make money, to be sure—­to coin money in.  If I had this place to myself—­why—­why, in two years I would be making as much as two hundred a year.  I would indeed.”

“You want to make money.  Bah!  That’s all you fellows think of.  To sit in the back shop all day long and to sell moldy books!  We jolly sailor boys know better than that, my lad.”

There really was something nautical about the look of the man.  He wore a black-silk tie, in a sailor’s running-knot, the ends loose; his waistcoat was unbuttoned, and his coat was a kind of jacket; not to speak of his swinging walk and careless pose.  In fact, he had been a sailor; he had made two voyages to India and back as assistant-purser, or purser’s clerk, on board a P. and O. boat, but some disagreement with his commanding officer concerning negligence, or impudence, or drink, or laziness—­he had been charged in different situations and at different times with all these vices, either together or separately—­caused him to lose his rating on the ship’s books.  However, he brought away from his short nautical experience, and preserved, a certain nautical swagger, which accorded well with his appearance, and gave him a swashbuckler air, which made those who knew him well lament that he had not graced the Elizabethan era, when he might have become a gallant buccaneer, and so got himself shot through the head; or that he had not flourished under the reign of good Queen Anne, when he would probably have turned pirate and been hanged; or that, being born in the Victorian age, he had not gone to the Far West, where he would, at least, have had the chance of getting shot in a gambling-saloon.

“As for me, when I get the business,” he continued, “I shall look about for some one to carry it on until I am able to sell it for what it will fetch.  Books at a penny apiece all round, I suppose”—­James gasped—­“shop furniture thrown in”—­James panted—­“and the goodwill for a small lump sum.”  James wondered how far his own savings, and what he could borrow, might go toward that lump sum, and how much might “remain.”  “My grandfather, as you know, of course, is soon going to retire from business altogether.”  This was another lie absolute, as Mr. Emblem had no intention whatever of retiring.

“Soon, Mr. Joseph?  He has never said a word to me about it.”

“Very soon, now—­sooner than you expect.  At seventy-five, and with all his money, why should he go on slaving any longer?  Very soon, indeed.  Any day.”

“Mr. Joseph,” the assistant positively trembled with eagerness and apprehension.

“What is it, James?  Did you really think that a man like me was going to sit in a back shop among these moldy volumes all day?  Come, that’s too good.  You might have given me credit for being one cut above a counter, too.  I am a gentleman, James, if you please; I am an officer and a gentleman.”