He loved books, but he cared not a jot for rare editions, so long as there were cheap ones published in Leipzic.

That old copy of _Sextus Empiricus_, on the desk there, he had bought because he could not get an ordinary edition; and now that he had read it he did not care to keep it.

Of course it contained a great deal that was good, but he had extracted the best of it, and meant to sell the volume to the first bidder--not that he wanted the money, but because it was in the way; if he allowed things to accumulate, there would be no turning round in his little den.

So he leaned back in his straight-backed chair and wondered what in the world he should do with "all that money." He might travel.

Yes, but he preferred to travel with a view of seeing things, rather than of reaching places.