S. GEDGE ANTIQUES, feather duster in hand, began to flick
pensively a number of articles of bigotry and virtue. The occupation
amused him. It was not that he had any great regard for the things he
sold, but each was registered in his mind as having been bought for so
much at So-and-So’s sale. A thoroughly competent man he understood his
trade. He had first set up in business in the year 1879. That was a
long time ago, but it was his proud boast that he had yet to make his
first serious mistake. Like everyone else, he had made mistakes, but it
pleased him to think that he had never been badly “let in.” His simple
rule was not to pay a high price for anything. Sometimes he missed a
bargain by not taking chances, but banking on certainties brought peace
of mind and a steady growth of capital.
Perhaps the worst shot he had ever made was the queer article to which
he now applied the duster. A huge black jar, about six feet high and
so fantastically hideous in design as to suggest the familiar of a
Caribbean witch doctor or the joss of a barbarous king, held a position
of sufficient prominence on the shop floor for his folly to be ever
before him. Years ago he had taken this grinning, wide-mouthed monster,
shaped and featured like Moloch, in exchange for a bad debt, hoping
that in the course of time he would be able to trade it away. As yet
he had not succeeded. Few people apparently had a use for such an
evil-looking thing which took up so much house room. S. Gedge Antiques
was loth to write it off a dead loss, but he had now come to regard
it as “a hoodoo.” He was not a superstitious man but he declared it
brought bad luck. On several occasions when a chance seemed to arise of
parting with it to advantage, something had happened to the intending
purchaser; indeed it would have called for no great effort of the
imagination to believe that a curse was upon it.
By an association of ideas, as the feathers flicked that surface of
black lacquer, the mind of S. Gedge reverted to his niece. She, too,
was a speculation, a leap in the dark. You never knew where you were
with women. Now that the fools in Parliament had given females a vote
the whole sex was demoralised. He had been terribly rash; and he could
tell by the look of the girl that she had a large appetite. Still if he
could do without “that woman” it would be something.
The picture, however, was not all dark. A flick of the feathers
emphasised its brighter side as William recurred suddenly to his mind.
Taking all things into account, he was ready to own that the able youth
was the best bargain he had ever made. Some years ago, William, a
needy lad of unknown origin, had been engaged at a very small wage to
run errands and to make himself of general use. Finding him extremely
intelligent and possessed of real aptitude, his master with an eye
to the future, had taught him the trade. And he had now become so
knowledgeable that for some little time past he had been promoted to an
active part in the business.
If William had a fault it was that in his master’s opinion he was
almost too honest. Had it been humanly possible for S. Gedge Antiques
to trust any man with a thousand pounds, William undoubtedly would have
been that man. Besides, he had grown so expert that his employer was
learning to rely more and more upon his judgment. The time had come
when S. Gedge Antiques had need of young eyes in the most delicate art
of choosing the right thing to buy; and this absolutely dependable
young man had now taken rank in his master’s mind, perhaps in a
higher degree than that master recognised, as an asset of priceless
value. Sooner or later, if William went on in his present way, the
long-deferred rise in his wages would have to enter the region of
practical politics. For example, there was this packing case from
Ipswich. Without indulgence in flagrant optimism--and the old man was
seldom guilty of that--there was a clear profit already in sight. The
bowl of Lowestoft might fetch anything up to ten pounds and even then
it would be “a great bargain at clearance sale prices.” Then there was
the engraving. William had a nose for such things; indeed his master
often wondered how a young chap with no education to speak of could
have come by it.
At this point there was heard a quiet and respectful: “Good morning,
sir.”
S. Gedge, standing with his back to the shop door, the china bowl again
in hand, was taken by surprise. William was not expected before the
afternoon.
That young man was rather tall and rather slight; he was decidedly
brown from the sun of East Anglia; and some people might have
considered him handsome. In his left hand he carried a small gladstone
bag. And beneath his right arm was an article wrapped in brown paper.
“Ah, that’s the bowl,” said William eagerly. “A nice piece, sir, isn’t
it?”
“I may be able to tell you more about that,” the cautious answer, “when
I know what you gave for it.”
William had given thirty shillings.
S. Gedge Antiques tapped the bowl appraisingly. “Thirty shillings! But
that’s money.”
“I’m sure it’s a good piece, sir.”
“Well, you may be right,” said S. Gedge grudgingly. “Lowestoft is
fetching fair prices just now. What’s that under your arm?”
“It’s something I’ve bought for myself, sir.”
“Out of the money I gave you?” said the old man as keen as a goshawk.
“No, sir,” said William with great simplicity. “Your money was all in
the packing case. I’ll give you an account of every penny.”
“Well, what’s the thing you’ve bought for yourself,” said the master
sternly.
“It’s a small picture I happened to come across in an old shop at
Crowdham Market.”
“Picture, eh?” S. Gedge Antiques dubiously scratched a scrub of whisker
with the nail of his forefinger. “Don’t fancy pictures myself. Chancey
things are pictures. Never brought _me_ much luck. However, I’ll
have a look at it. Take off the paper.”
William took off the paper and handed to his master the article it had
contained. With a frown of petulant disgust the old man held an ancient
and dilapidated daub up to the light. So black it was with grime and
age that to his failing eyes not so much as a hint of the subject was
visible.
“Nothing to write home about anyhow,” was the sour comment. “Worth
nothing beyond the price of the frame. And I should put that”--S. Gedge
pursed a mouth of professional knowledge--“at five shillings.”
“Five shillings, sir, is what I paid for it.”
“Not worth bringing home.” S. Gedge shook a dour head. Somehow he
resented his assistant making a private purchase, but that may have
been because there was nothing in the purchase when made. “Why buy a
thing like that?”
William took the picture gravely from his master and held it near the
window.
“I have an idea, sir, there may be a subject underneath.”
“Don’t believe in ideas myself,” snapped S. Gedge, taking a microscope
from the counter. After a brief use of it he added, “There may be a bit
o’ badly painted still life, but what’s the good o’ that.”
“I’ve a feeling, sir, there’s something below it.”
“Rubbish anyhow. It’ll be a fortnight’s job to get the top off and
then like as not you’ll have wasted your time. Why buy a pig in a poke
when you might have invested your five shillings in a bit more china?
However, it’s no affair of mine.”
“There’s something there, sir, under those flowers, I feel sure,” said
the young man taking up the microscope and gazing earnestly at the
picture. “But what it is I can’t say.”
“Nor can anyone else. However, as I say, it’s your funeral. In our
trade there’s such a thing as being too speculative, and don’t forget
it, boy.”
“I might find a thing worth having, sir,” William ventured to say.
“Pigs might fly,” snapped S. Gedge Antiques, his favourite formula for
clinching an argument.
The mention of pigs, no doubt again by an association of ideas, enabled
S. Gedge to notice, which he might have done any time for two minutes
past, that his niece had emerged from the back premises, and that she
was regarding William and the picture with frank curiosity.
“Well, niece,” said the old man sharply. “What do you want now?”
“Is the cold mutton in the larder for dinner, Uncle Si?” said June
with a slight but becoming blush at being called upon to speak in the
presence of such a very nice looking young man.
“What else do you think we are going to have? Truffles in aspic or
patty de four grass?”
“No, Uncle Si,” said June gravely.
“Very well then,” growled S. Gedge Antiques.