ON DISPLAY.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 292, 9 December 1936, Page 23

ON DISPLAY.

FROil one of the stream of buses that stopped outside the mammoth I store emerged a young man. His* feet touched ground at the moment the gates of steel lattice were being telescoped into their sockets. The clocks of the neighbourhood were striking nine. 'ilhe young man was dressed with shabby neatness. His clean collar clasped his neck bravely above a triangle of shirt that was not quite so clean; his burnished boots pleaded mutely for repair; his socks liad darns at the heels. His crest of hair was windblown; he looked its though lie might have walked a long way to save a penny or two. Ho alighted from the bus as of set, purpose, crossed the intervening width of pavement with decision, swung apart the handsome doors in front of him and, entering the store, strode away down a marble pillared aisle. His manner lost none of its air of jmrpose. He went forward quickly, looking neither to right nor left. His objective was the book department. Arrived there he proceeded to attend closely to the matter in hand. He sought no assistant; made no pause and no attempt to browse awhile among the books now being uncovered to his gaze. He made his way directly to the section wherein the newest books were displayed in tempting array. There was a large table on which books were piled in hexagon, octagon and pyramidical formation cunningly devised to expose covers and titles to the utmost advantage.

The young man cast his eye over these, at first expectantly, then searcliingly. His tongue clicked impatiently against the roof of his mouth. It was evident that the book he was interested ill was not here. Next in importance to the table was a row of shelves rising to a height oi live feet from the ground and packed close with books of every kind classified under various headings set out on white celluloid plaques affixed to the edges of the shelves. There were large and imposing books under the heading of "Biography and Travel," larger and even more imposing books under the heading of "General Literature," and, in the proportion of ten volumes to one, came the books under the heading of "Fiction." Along the top of this fixture a few books were displayed, standing invitingly on end at eye level, front of jacket to the beholder, pages tantalisingly apart. It was at the titles of these favoured books that the young man looked before lie transferred his attention to those on the shelves beneath. His eye explored them and at last, from a place on a shelf near the ground, he selected a book whose cover lacked nothing of colourful and almost certainly lying appeal. There was depicted what was apparently a jungle scene almost entirely occupied by a large and ferocious beast, bearing a vague resemblance to a tiger, except that it was entirely green, in the net of devouring a beautiful blonde in evening dress. That, at all events, was how the picture appeared to the lay eye, though probably the artist had set out to portray something quite different. The young man turned the book about in his hand. The lift of his shouldei expressed what looked like scorn and was very like resignation. He opened the book, and for the space of a moment read at random. His countenance lightened, as though \\ha~ he read gave him greater pleasure than had his contemplation of the near

tiger. _ The approach of an assistant distui bed him, and he shut the book with a snap. And now for the first time since hi had entered the building, he looked about him. _ . There was something furtive in Ins quick, searching glance. He saw that he was unobserved. The assistants were busy among the books, arranging here, flickering a duster there.

No customers awaited attention; at that carlv hour nobody "as buying books. It would have been easy for the voung man to slip the book lie licld into" his pocket and walk off with it. See in"- the quick glance one might have suspected that such was his intention. But 110. The young man's purpose was more subtle. With a quick movement he snatched one of the books from its privileged position 011 top of the shelves and substituted the book he held in his hand. The exchange was effected 111 a second. The deposed book Riled the empty space among the books 011 the shelf near the floor. . That done, the young man turned about and left the store recrossed the pavement and mounted a bus going in the same direction as the one from which lie had alighted# a few minute# earlier.

At twenty-live minutes past nine he was in Holborn, walking quickly towards a block of offices near the Circus. Hailed from behind lie stopped to allow another young man to overtake him.

"Hello," said the young man "Hello yourself," replied the newcomer. "You're in a hurry, aren t you? ,Goin.£; like a house on fire." "Was I? I'm given *o ru hing. * do it unconsciously. I'm a fast walker. "I'll say you are!" the other grinned. "And a fast worker. Too f-st for the firm we work for, if you don't mind my saying so. Our firm doesn't pay for speed .'" The young man made no reply to the implied rebuke. He merely lengthened his stride so that the other' almost ran to keep up with him. t "Hey, hold hard! This isn't a mara thon race! You're letting off surplus steam. That's what's the-matter with you." A restraining tug at his coat slowed the young man down. His companion winded but determined to have liis say. gasped out: "How does it feel to Liq chained up again after being free for a year?" This remark effectually checked the young man's wild progress towards the office desk with two pounds ten a week at the end of it. He stopped dead on the steps of the building that housed the desk. "Free!" he exclaimed. "You .mean what does it feel like to be working again after being out of a job for a year. Ask me again when I've drawn a salary for a couple of months. Just now I feel I might wake up at any moment." "You're the lucky one," the other persisted. "I hear you wrote a book and got it published while you were out of a job. Is that a fact?"

"It is," said the young man shortly, leading the way towards the stairs.

(SHORT STORY.)

(By MARJORIE RICHARDS.)

"Then you're on vjclvet," said the voice behind him. All you've got to do is hang on till the money begins to come in, then—whoopee!" The enthusiast took a flight of six steps two at a time to express his mood. "That's all," agreed the young man. wondering if the new job was safe enough to allow him to spend fifteen bob on a pair of shoes out of the few pounds he had left of his advance royalties after satisfying his landlady and repaying a eoupie of small debts. "Can I get it at my tuppeny library ?" "I shouldn't think so. It's published at seven-and-sixpence." The young man grinned as he prepared to ojien the office door. "Why don't you buy a copy? You can get it at Harridge's. I happened to go in there this morning and saw it. It's on display." » * • • Strictly speaking, it was no longer on display. An assistant, leaning negligently against the fixture as she talked across the section to a fellow slave, caught sight of the green tiger. So astonished was she that she became for a rare moment completely natural.

"Well, I'm bothered! Who do you suppose put that up there Not me; that I could swear to. Good job his nibs didn't see it. He'd have played war." She glanced over her shoulder towards the small booth wedged in among the book tables which was the buyer's office. She then took the few steps that brought her within reach of the book which had been so mysteriously placed on display and plucked it indignantly from its exalted position. "If I put that up there I must be going crazy, that's all I can say about it." "What is it?" The girl across the section asked the question, not because she was interested, but because she felt she had to contribute something in view of her colleague's mystification. With the book in her hand the girl at the fixture said: "That's it. What is it? I know what it should be. What 1 put up there was the Evening Banner 'Hook of the Month' —but this —she road from the blurb —is "one of the most interesting of our First Novel Group. The Return from Riga, by Dash Aster isk Dot. I ask you!" A flash of green and the young man's book was returned to the obscurity from which he had briefly rescued it. Unless the new job was "safe it would show wisdom on his part to go without new shoes.