“Ou est, m’sie, la grand Larousse?”
  “Do you say ‘two-spot,’ or ’the deuce’?”
  “Come, find my book—­why make a row?”
  “A red one—­can’t you find it now?”
  “Please, which is right? to ‘lend’ or ’loan’?”
  “Say, mister, where’s the telephone?”
  “How do you use this catalog?”
  “Oh, hear that noise!  Is that my dog?”
  “Have you a book called ’Shapes of Fear’?”
  “You mind if I leave baby here?”

  —­Edmund Lester Pearson

It was at the public library.  A small shaver clutched a well-worn, dirty volume.  At last it came his turn to place his volume for the inspection of the librarian.  The suspense was great, but finally the librarian leaned forward.  Taking in the size of the boy and then glancing back at the book she remarked, “This is rather technical, isn’t it?”

Planting his feet firmly on the floor, the boy, half-defiant, half-apologetic, retorted, “It was that way when I got it, ma’am.”

“My husband is a most inveterate reader,” exclaimed Mrs. Knox with a slight tone of ennui.  “He reads until dawn every morning.  Why, last night I found him asleep with his nose in ‘V.V.’s Eyes!’”

Toast to Librarians

Said the “maker of books” to the “keeper of books,”
Yours is the task to hold
The choice of the changeable minds of men
To that which is pure gold.

Yours to watch at the ebb and flow
The tides of the public thought—­
Flotsam or jetsam floating in
With the treasure genius brought.

  For the unperishable dream of the soul lives on,
    As the dream of genius must,
  When the brain which wrought and the hand that wrote
    Are one with the “daisied dust.”

And so with reverent hands may you give
To the minds of men in their need,
The written word that’s the word worth while,
So keepers of books—­God speed!

Do You Believe In Fairies?

The world is full of people
Who are under the impression
That libr’ry work in general
Is the easiest profession.

“Such nice clean work!” says So-and-So,
“And such nice hours too!”
“Why, really now,” exclaims a girl,
“I don’t see what you do.” 
“Just sitting reading all the books
’Most all the livelong day. 
Don’t tell me now that just for this
The city gives you pay!”

  And no one ever stops to think
    Why it’s so quiet there. 
  While they’re just sitting at their ease
    In some nice easy chair. 
  And how the books got on the shelves
    In just the right, right place,
  Nor how the “chief” keeps track of each,
    And with a smiling face.

  Oh, mercy no, they seem to think
    Some fairy passed that way
  With books from many publishers
    And when she’d said, “Good day,”
  She catalogued them in a night,
    And with a bit of glue,
  Stuck in the pages that were loose,
    And mended old ones too.