At last they saw a bookshop. There were a lot of old books in the shop window but it was so dusty that the boys could not read the titles of the books. In front of the shop there was a long table with many books in it.
'It's very risky to leave these books out in the street,' Darbishire said, 'if they are valuable first editions.'
Jennings took a dust thick book from the table. 'Poems by Alfred Tennyson,' he read. 'This book must cost a lot,' he said. 'It's very thick.'
'A hundred pounds?' asked Darbishire.
Jennings looked at the price. 'No, nine pence. Maybe it's only a second edition. Let's go in, shall we!'
It was a dark little shop, and for a moment the boys thought it was empty: because Mr Barlow, the bookseller, looked like his books. His clothes were as dusty as the books on his shelves and he looked at the boys through spectacles which were as dusty as his window.
'Well?' he asked the boys. 'What can I do for you?'
'Jennings handed him the two books that he carried.
'How much do these books cost?' he asked.
Mr Barlow took of his spectacles.
'Hm. Grimshaw's First Latin Grammar. Ah, yes, a very good book.' He turned over some pages. When Mr Barlow began to turn the pages of the book Jennings closed his eyes. The pages were not very clean and all the pages were not there.
'A very good book,' repeated Mr Barlow. 'Very good condition. Beautiful binding.'
'Oh, do you think so?' exclaimed Jennings. He turned to Darbishire. 'Do you hear that, Darbi?' Then he turned back to the counter. 'How much does it cost, please?'
Mr Barlow looked up at the ceiling.
'Let's say five shillings each,' he said.
'Oh! Is that all?' exclaimed Jennings. That was much less than a hundred pound.
'You will not buy them for less than that,' said the bookseller.
'Buy them! I don't want to buy them. I want to sell them,' exclaimed Jennings.
'Didn't you take these books from that table near by shop?' asked Mr Barlow.
'Oh, no! We brought them with us. They are ours - they are!'
'How do I know that they are really yours? People often bring me in a book and I give them a good price for it, and all the time it's my own book that they have taken from the table outside.'
'But they are really ours,' repeated Jennings. 'You must believe us.'
There was something in Jennings' voice that made Mr Barlow believe the boys. He looked at the books again.
'These books aren't much good to me. The pages are not clean, and all the pages are not there.'
'But a minute ago you said that the books were in a good condition.'
'Oh, yes,' said the bookseller, 'but that was before I knew you wanted to sell them. Well, I'll give you three pence for each.'
'Three pence!' exclaimed Jennings. He got very angry. 'They cost five shillings each a minute ago when you thought we wanted to buy them.'
Mr Barlow put on his spectacles.
'That's business, my boy,' he said. 'These old books don't cost... Oh, wait a moment! I think somebody has ordered Grimshaw's Latin Grammar.'
He opened his order book. 'Yes, I thought so! The Headmaster of Linbury Court Boarding School asked me to sent him any copies which I had.'
The bookseller took the two books and put three sixpence on the counter.
'I'm giving you nine pence for each! That is much more than they really cost.'
'Just think,' Jennings said to Darbishire in a whisper. 'The Headmaster will have to pay five shillings for the book which he thinks is in my desk.'
'We can't take a hundred pounds for it,' answered Darbishire.
'What are you talking about?' asked Mr Barlow.
'I... I don't want to sell the books I want them back,' said Darbishire.
Now Mr Barlow did not want to give them back.
'You will not get a better price for them,' he said. 'Well, I'll give you one shilling and nine for the two of them. All right?'
'No, thank you very much. They are not for sale,' said Jennings.
'Not for sale! What do you mean - not for sale? You've said you came here to sell them!' cried the bookseller.
'Yes, I know, but now quite suddenly I've decided not to sell them.'
Mr Barlow put the books back on the counter.
'You are two silly boys who don't know whether you want to buy books or sell them,' the bookseller said angrily. 'Get out of my shop, and take your books with you!'
The boys were only too happy to go!
Chapter Thirteen
Jennings gives the prize
Jennings and Darbishire went into the street.
'Just think, Jen. The headmaster takes the Latin book and finds your name on the first page,' said Darbishire and leaned on Mr Barlow's table. When he did it a pile of books fell from the table.
'You are so clumsy, Darbi!' Jennings said angrily. 'Now look what you've done!'
'I'm sorry, Jen. It was that clumsy table...'
'Quick; pick them up before the old man comes out of his shop!'
The boys picked the books up and put them back on the table. The last book, which Jennings was just going to put back on the table was Poems by Alfred Tennyson. The book had opened when it had fallen down and Jennings took his handkerchief from his pocket to clean the dust from the two open pages.
'I think it's all right now, so we'll put it...' He stopped and looked in surprise at the page in front of him.
'What's the matter?' asked Darbishire.
'I don't know.'
'Listen to this on page one hundred and thirty-four of Alfred Tennyson's poems:
'Break, break, break,
On thy cold grey stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me!'
'It's a nice poem, isn't it?' said Darbishire. 'You know, Jen, I think I've heard that poem somewhere before.'
'I'm sure you have heard it,' cried Jennings. 'And I know when and where.'
'That's right! Of course! It's Venables' poem.'
'But it isn't! It's Tennyson's. It's in his book, and it means that it is his! You see what it means, Darbi? Venables never wrote this poem - he copied it from Alfred Tennyson! He tried to deceive us.'
Jennings put the book back on the table and the boys hurried to the bus stop. The boys were very angry. Of course, they did not have to give a prize now, a prize, which they did not have. But it was very dishonest of Venables!
