Upon another occasion, in the same town, there was a dealer's sale at
an auction mart, and it went off pretty well, though naturally a good
many lots remained undisposed of at the close, for on every article
there was a reserve price representing the profit to accrue to the
vendor, with the auctioneer's usual ten per cent. One of the unsold
pictures had attracted the attention of a gentleman who had bid as far
as twelve pounds for it, and when the sale was over he remained in the
mart waiting to see if it should be claimed by a dealer, so that he
might have a chance of getting it at a slight advance.
But the auctioneer very frankly confided in him that it had not been
sold: the vendor, unfortunately, knew a good deal about pictures and had
put a pretty stiff reserve on it. At this moment a local dealer showed
signs of being also attracted by the picture. He stood in front of it,
and seemed to be assessing its value to the nearest penny. After a few
moments he jerked his head to bring the auctioneer to his side, and with
a word of apology to the possible purchaser the auctioneer went to the
man.
They had a whispered conversation together, but every whisper was
clearly audible to the layman.
“Look here,” said the dealer, “you know that I bid up to eighteen pounds
for that picture. Well, I'm willing to go to the length of twenty for
it, if you're selling it privately.”
“I'm sorry I can't oblige you, Mr. Goldstein,” said the auctioneer. “You
know as well as I do who the vendor is, and you know that he is as good
a judge of a picture as any man living. You know that the picture is
worth money.”
“Now what's the good of talking to me like that?” said Mr. Goldstein.
“I don't deny that the picture is a good one--one of the best you ever
handled--but a man must live. I believe I have a customer for that
thing, but I look to make a bit off it for myself, and I must have it
cheap.”
“And isn't twenty-five pounds cheap for such a work?” asked the
auctioneer.
“I don't deny it,” replied the dealer, “and that's just what I expect to
get for it; but where do I come in in the transaction if I pay you that
for it? Do you fancy I stick in auction-rooms all day by the doctor's
orders? I'll give you twenty-three pounds for the picture, and if you
can't let me have it for that you may burn it.”
The auctioneer laughed and walked away without condescending to reply,
and with a grimace of ill-humour Mr. Goldstein left the auction-room.
“Who is that person?” asked the would-be purchaser.
“His name is Goldstein,” replied the auctioneer. “He's a picture dealer,
and about as knowing as they are made. He has been nibbling at this ever
since it was left with me. Of course he'll come back for it. He's no
fool. He knows a good thing when he sees it.”
The auctioneer strolled down the room to his office, leaving the
gentleman to digest the information which he had given him.
Now the gentleman was quite an astute person, and it did not take him
long to perceive that a picture that is worth twenty-three pounds to a
dealer named Goldstein is certainly worth twenty-five to a layman, so
the auctioneer was not surprised when he entered his office, saying--
“Did you say that twenty-five pounds was the reserve for that picture?”
“That's the vendor's reserve, sir.”
“All right. I'll take it at that,” said the gentleman.
“Very good, sir,” said the auctioneer, and he smiled knowingly as he
added, “I may tell you that Goldstein offered me twenty-three for it
just now. He'll be back with me offering twenty-five within the hour. I
can imagine his face when he hears that it's gone.”
His shrewdness did not deceive him. Mr. Goldstein was back at the mart
within half an hour, with inquiries about the picture, and it was with
an air of triumph that the auctioneer told him that it had been sold. It
is also quite likely that the look which he said he would like to see on
Mr. Goldstein's face when he heard that the picture was sold was exactly
the one which was worn by Mr. Goldstein, though it might not be just
the one which the purchaser of the picture would associate with an
expression of chagrin on the face of a person named Goldstein.
The truth was that Mr. Goldstein was grinning quite pleasantly; for Mr.
Goldstein was the vendor of the work of art, which he had bought for
four pounds and had disposed of for twenty-five, less auction fees!
This auctioneer was an unusually clever man. He was heard to confide in
a friend his impression that the town he lived in was not sufficiently
large to give his genius a chance of being displayed to the full; and
that was possibly why a short time afterwards he went to London and
started business in one of the most central thoroughfares.
Within six months he was prosecuted for selling bogus Bechsteins,
convicted, and sentenced to a term of imprisonment for an offence which
at one time was a serious menace to the piano trade.