I am not going to give a historical account of The bookman here.
It was rather late and our bookman was disinclined to seek a restaurant.
Only in the lamplit closet of the bookman, the fanatic of first and fine editions, is it remembered and revered.
The bookman sympathised with him, but asked what was the proposed name.
I should say I wrote about your book of poems as you will have seen in the bookman.
The bookman is not always killed in a man by service in the field.
When one not a bookman publishes a book, he treads the danger-line.
But the bookman no longer has the opportunity of selecting for a community.
This was accomplished with the sage advice of my old playmate, Frank M. Morris, the bookman of Chicago.
This leads me to the story of one of the articles he contributed to The bookman.