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had not occurred to him that they could have been the beneficiaries of Hurst, Robinson’s connections with Wardle. Cadell’s letter is remarkably harsh in its tone and presumption of guilt:

      We now address you in consequence of being put in possession of information, that you have for some years, and are now, in the way of procuring the sheets of the new works published by us from the pen of the Author of Waverly [sic], through the means of some one of the workmen in the Printing Office where the productions of that Author are printed.

      It may at present be sufficient to state, that we have taken means to put a stop to so irregular a proceeding, and if you suffer any disappointment in the matter, it will mainly arise from the course you have pursued being one of great uncertainty, to say nothing of the gross want of honesty in the person so transmitting early copies of the sheets to you.²⁰

      Although it was the thief in the shop whom Cadell accused of “gross” dishonesty, the insult overflowed onto Carey himself, embroiled as he allegedly was in such an “irregular” proceeding. Cadell’s arrogance is manifest in his certainty of Carey’s guilt, his own ability to “put a stop” to the crime, and the implicit lesson he wished to teach the American about how to behave like a gentleman bookseller. His anger derived not only from the apparent violation of Ballantyne’s printing office—still closely guarded to protect Scott’s anonymity—but, as quickly becomes clear, from the injustice of missing out on the transaction. He questioned not the propriety of Carey’s procuring advance sheets, just his supposed method of acquisition. Cadell wanted the money himself: “[We] have no objections to treat with you or any respectable house for the privilege of any early dispatch we make of the sheets of any work of this author; there will be many more productions from the same pen, and if it is any object to you to have the early possession of such works surely it is to you greatly more certain to transact direct with the proprietors than through any disrespectable channel, but perhaps you are not aware of the source from which you procure the sheets being irregular.”²¹ The concession he made at the end of this passage merely trades the presumption of dishonesty for one of ignorance and does little to mitigate the accusation that Carey was flouting common courtesies of the trade. In the absence of an actionable legal offence, Cadell reasserted his firm’s ownership of the Waverley novels and resorted to shame as a disciplinary tactic.

      In the rest of the letter, he suggested that Carey purchase the sheets from him, an ironic move given his disdain for Carey’s supposed methods. Cadell reported that he initially heard about the stolen sheets from a publisher in Baltimore who had written to him about the rumor and offered to purchase subsequent sheets himself. Cadell passed over the request from Baltimore and offered the deal instead to the offensive Philadelphians, whose enterprising negotiation of the marketplace Cadell seemed, despite himself, to admire. “[I]f as that letter [from Baltimore] states you have successfully brought out many of these books in succession,” he wrote, “we think there is a better chance of your understanding the matter than any person in a great degree unacquainted with it”; should they come to terms, he could “forward any portion of any new work.”²² It was precisely within the apparent irregularity of Carey’s practices that Cadell found evidence of his competency. In showing his own preference for the experienced Philadelphia firm, furthermore, Cadell betrayed his firm’s own preference—quite outside economic motivations—that the Waverley novels receive a “respectable” edition in the United States.

      Upon receipt of this letter, Henry Carey was immediately concerned with defending his firm (now H. Carey & Lea), a simple task given the facts of the case but also an urgent one given the great potential of establishing a new relationship with Edinburgh. The letter he wrote in response, addressed to Archibald Constable, gave a full explanation of his actual practice, including the amount he paid Wardle for each novel, though he did not name Hurst, Robinson in order to avoid “any difficulty between you and them.” The letter is notable for both offended pride and solicitation. The backhanded preference Constable & Company showed for Carey over the gossipy Baltimore firm may have been an additional provocation over and above his actual innocence:

      Had you known us at the time you wrote that letter we presume you would not have thrown out the ideas it contains with regard to our obtaining the books in the manner you speak of. Where we are known we do not imagine any such charge could be thought of as we have endeavored to conduct our business with as much regard to correctness as any house in this Country. Messr Longman & Co—Mr Miller … are our correspondents in London, to them you may refer for any information that you may desire respecting us. We mention these names from a desire that the impression you have received may be effaced. Had such a charge come from any person who had an opportunity of knowing us, we should hardly have considered it entitled to refutation.²³

      Carey’s frustration is palpable in the repeated invocation of his firm’s obscurity (“Had you known us,” and so on). As Everton has written, “The rank of a printer or publisher depended on his character and reputation in trade.”²⁴ Such a reputation was not easily acquired across the Atlantic. Of course, Carey was disingenuous to claim that Constable’s ignorance was the only reason he deigned to refute this charge. The stakes were quite high, as a direct arrangement with Constable & Company could finally give him the real advantage he wanted in the reprint market and also solve continuing difficulties with his indirect London connection.

      However disguised, the high stakes are revealed in the measures Carey took to vindicate his honor, including the invocation of his London agents, the detailed account of his dealings with Wardle, and his defense of the anonymous party Hurst, Robinson, who Carey well knew were Constable’s London partners: “Were we to mention the name of the house by which [the sheets] have been furnished you would be astounded to hear that such a house would be guilty of such conduct.” “For ourselves,” Carey continued, “we feel perfectly free from the slightest impropriety in the transaction & we presume you will be convinced of the same & regret having charged us as you have done.” He was confident enough to call a witness on his own behalf to turn the tables on the Edinburgh publisher, who now played the fool: “Since the receipt of your letter this morning we have seen the agent [Wardle] & he informs us that when he was last in London, one Vol of one of the works was rec’d & the head of the house assured him that it had that morning been put into his hands by Mr Constable himself.”²⁵ The arch tone was clearly a method, in itself, of earning credit in the eyes of his opponent; Carey’s honor was defined through its capacity to be thoroughly offended.

      Carey also proved as capable as Robert Cadell in making a proposal couched in condescension and negativity. He aimed low in his offer for future novels, as anyone might while negotiating a price, but he emphasized over and over again that advance sheets might be less valuable than Constable & Company would wish. For most of the novels, he paid either $100 or $200, Carey wrote, and he added that “from these prices you may judge the value of the copies here,” even, as he said, “where the agent has the opportunity of making arrangements with any or all the Booksellers in the country.” Without a middleman, they might command an even lower sum, since in the current arrangement, agent and supplier split the profits. As Carey pointedly phrased it, “We could not believe that a house engaged in so large a business as they [Hurst, Robinson] would be guilty of so much rascality for the thrifty compensation they receive.” The implication was that such a cheap bundle wouldn’t even be worth stealing. In this context, his actual offer appears generous: “We are willing to pay fifty five pounds (about $250) for the first Copy of his future works.” Although this is more than twice what they paid for Ivanhoe, Carey felt it necessary to explain his low bid even further by mentioning that the swift arrival of the published books would erase the advantage of advance sheets, since in such cases, any bookseller “is sure of having the opportunity of taking part of an edition at cost of paper & print in less than 5 days after us.”²⁶ Throughout the letter, Carey seemed as interested in explaining the demand structure of the American book trade as he was in introducing himself as an honorable tradesman. In doing so, he allowed a hint of condescension, as if to assure the Edinburgh publisher that if he wanted to profit from content that would otherwise be free, he must know whereof he spoke.

      The establishment of this relationship was more urgent in Philadelphia than in Edinburgh because

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