He was going to talk to Darbishire, when Venables spoke from the other side of the table.
"Don't forget my prize, Jennings. Remember, it has to be something good."
"Yes, what's it going to be?" asked Atkinson.
"I can't tell you yet," said Jennings, "because... well, because I haven't got it yet. But it's all right. I'm going to sell my Latin book and buy something for the money."
"Sell you Latin book!" The boys were surprised.
"Yes, it costs a lot of money, maybe a hundred pounds, because it's a rare first edition."
"But what will you use in class?" asked Temple.
"Oh, that's all right. The Headmaster won't know because I shall buy a newer edition."
There was no football game that Saturday and the boys could get permission to go to the village and buy sweets there at the little house that had a notice in the window. Home-made Cakes and Bicycles Repaired.
Jennings and Darbishire had other plans. But before they went out of the school yard they heard footsteps behind hem. They turned round and saw Venables. In his hand he carried his Grimshaw's Latin Grammar.
"Wait a minute," he said. "Are you going to Dunhambury?"
"Ssh! Don't speak so loudly!" said Jennings. "If Mr Carter knows that we are going so far there will be... I don't know what there will be."
"It's about these Latin books," Venables said in a whisper. "Mine is a first edition too. So I wondered if you could take it with you."
"I don't advise you to sell yours," said Darbishire. "Jennings is selling his because he has to buy you a big cake."
"But I want to sell mine, too. Please, Jennings, take it," said Venables.
Jennings thought for a moment. If he could sell one book, he could sell two books at the same time.
"All right," he said.
"Thank you very much," smiled Venables. "But, please, buy a newer edition before you sell the old book. The Headmaster will be very angry if I haven't got a book for his class on Monday."
Jennings and Darbishire hurried to the bus stop. They had very little time. It was a long way to Dunhambury, and they had to be back at school by half past four.
For a quarter of an hour they waited at the bus stop. At last a bus came, and soon they arrived at Dunhambury.
For some time they could not find a bookshop. They saw all kinds of shops, but not a bookshop.
"There must be a bookshop in the town," Darbishire said.
"But, maybe these people have no time to read books," said Jennings.
"Shall we ask?"
"Whether they are too busy to read?"
"No, you silly! Shall we ask where a bookshop is?"
"Better not. Nobody must know that the pupils of Linbury Court Boarding School have come here to sell rare and valuable books, because..." Jennings stopped and looked at his friend. "Why do you still have your school cap on, Darbi?"
"I'm sorry," said Darbishire. He took off his school cap and put it in his pocket.
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."