Tell him you've a
brother who is a Latin scholar."
Bertram nodded, caught up a strip of calf-skin and returned.
"Yes, sir," he said, "the split cover and what's inside?"
The other started. "You didn't get it out?" he cried. "You didn't
tear it!"
"No, sir. It's there safe enough. But some of it can be made out."
"You said you didn't read Latin."
"No, sir; but I have a brother that went through the Academy. He
reads a little."' This was thin ice, but Bertram went forward with
assumed assurance. "He thinks the manuscript is quite rare. Oh,
Fritz! Come in."
"Any letter of Bacon's is rare, of course," returned the other
impatiently. "Therefore, I purpose offering you fifty dollars
reward."
He looked up as Average Jones entered. The young man's sleeves were
rolled up, his face was generously smudged, and a strip of cobbler's
wax beneath the tipper lip, puffed and distorted the firm line of
his mouth. Further, his head was louting low on his neck, so that
the visitor got no view sufficient for recognition.
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