The tone rather than the words challenged attention. Hunsaker stopped
talking, staring at Quinney.
"Sorry?" repeated Jordan.
"Sorry, sir, that so busy a man should have come here. The chairs are
like the Pevensey chairs, but they are not authentic specimens. I told
Mr. Hunsaker that we dealers was done sometimes."
"Often," murmured Tomlin mournfully.
"Yesterday afternoon, Mr. Tomlin and I discovered that these chairs are
not what they appear to be." He moved to his desk. "Here is your
cheque, Mr. Hunsaker. I return it."
"Suffering Moses!" exclaimed Hunsaker.
"I am sorry," said Quinney, "that Mr. Jordan should be disappointed, but
his verdict, no doubt, will coincide with mine and Thomas Tomlin's."
"Finest fakes I ever saw in all my life," murmured Tomlin.
Hunsaker stared at his cheque, and then held out his hand to Quinney.
"By the Lord, sir, I'm proud to know you. You're the straight goods."
"Give us time," said Tomlin, "and we'll find you a genuine set."
The big fellow was almost, but not quite, at his ease. He admitted to
himself that his former pupil had risen to heights above his master.
Nevertheless, the victory was not yet assured. He continued
grandiloquently:
"We dealers are prepared to pay for our mistakes, but we don't want 'em
made public."
Hunsaker exclaimed with enthusiasm:
"You can bet your boots, Mr. Tomlin, that this mistake won't be made
public by me."
"Nor by me," said Jordan. His heavy face had brightened, his keen
glance rested pleasantly upon Quinney. He had been told that this odd
little man never sold fakes except as such, and here was confirmation
strong of the astounding statement. Tomlin he knew to be a plausible
rogue, who was honest only in his dealings with men like himself,
recognized experts. Lark and Bundy he knew also as gentlemen of the
same kidney. Quinney soared above his experience of dealers--a unique
specimen.
These thoughts were diverted by the entrance of James, carrying the
chair. He set it down with a flourish. He believed that Quinney had
such faith in his powers as a faker of Chippendale furniture that he
dared to invite the inspection of an expert. In a sense it was a proud
moment for him, when he heard Quinney say:
"Now, Mr. Jordan, will you kindly pass judgment on this chair?"
Jordan adjusted his pince-nez, and bent over it. Quinney glanced at
James.
"Stay you here, my lad."
James smiled triumphantly, interpreting these words to mean surrender.
He collapsed like a pricked bladder, when he heard Quinney say to
Jordan:
"Wonderful bit of fake work, Mr. Jordan, isn't it?"
"Half-and-half, I call it," observed Tomlin, noting the effect on James.
"Yes," said Jordan slowly. "This leg is genuine, I should say, and that
isn't. Under a strong glass one would perceive the difference."
He looked up to behold James quite unable to control his emotions. The
lever in which he had trusted was elevating Posy's father to sublime
heights. By a stroke of genius Quinney had challenged the attention of
a millionaire collector, who might entrust so honest a man with
commissions involving tens of thousands of pounds. His bluff had been
called in Posy's presence, Posy who was staring at her father with
wonder in her eyes. For one moment he was tempted to throw prudence to
the winds, and proclaim the fraud. But--would he be believed now?
"Is this young man ill?" asked Jordan.
"Oh no," said Quinney. "He's upset, that's what he is, and no wonder!
I'll say this for him, he's a clever lad; and he always had his doubts
about them chairs, didn't you, James?"
"Yes," replied the unhappy James, "but----"
"That'll do, my boy. Take away that chair. I feel ill when I look at
it. Case it up. We'll send the lot back to Ireland this afternoon."
James picked up the chair and retreated in disorder, outplayed at all
points.
"The needlework is beautiful," said Jordan.
"Nothing more to be said," remarked Quinney genially.
He chuckled, rubbing his hands together, glancing slyly at Posy and
Susan. Jordan was tremendously impressed. Here was a little man,
obviously without much education, who had achieved a distinctive
position as a dealer in the world's greatest mart. And he was plucky
enough to face a heavy monetary loss and a still heavier blow to his
_amour propre_ as a connoisseur with--chucklings. Jordan loved a good
loser.
Hunsaker put into vivid words the thoughts passing through Jordan's
mind:
"Nothing more to be said!" he repeated. "I've something to say, and I
want to get it off my chest quick. You're a dead square man, Mr.
Quinney, and, by thunder, I'll make it my business that you don't lose
by this. My friends are going to hear of you, sir. And some of 'em
will weigh in downstairs with cheques as big as this." He waved the
slip of paper excitedly. "I ain't sure that I ought to take this. I
bought the chairs after careful examination. I wanted to buy them, and
you were not over keen about selling. I remember that."
"I couldn't let you have those chairs, Mr. Hunsaker. Tear up that
cheque!"
"I'm hanged if I will! I want to take back to Hunsaker a souvenir of a
great morning. Can't you let me have something else for this?"
Then Quinney added the last touch.
"Yes, by Gum! I can. And I'll leave it to Mr. Jordan. You can have
anything in this room you fancy at a price to be set on it by him."
Hunsaker threw back his broad shoulders and laughed. There was a whiff
of the New Mexico plains in his general air, a breezy freshness
captivating to see. At that moment Quinney regretted nothing. He beheld
an honest man, and was warmed to the core.
"Anything?" repeated Hunsaker. He glanced about him, and for one moment
his eyes rested upon Posy.
"Anything," Quinney reaffirmed.
"I'll remember that, sir. Now, Mr. Jordan, do me the favour to select
some object in this sanctuary for which you would pay eleven hundred
pounds or more."
"You insist?"
"I shall be under the greatest obligations to you and Mr. Quinney."
Jordan walked to the cabinet. At his request Quinney opened it,
displaying the beautiful interior.
"I would gladly give eleven hundred pounds for this," he said quietly.
"Will you accept that, Mr. Quinney?"
Quinney chuckled, looking at Posy.
"Um! There are memories connected with that cabinet, Mr. Hunsaker,
which make me willing to part with it. It's yours."
"It's mine."
Solemnly he handed the cheque back to Quinney, who as solemnly received
it, laying it upon his desk. Jordan held out his hand.
"Good-day, Mr. Quinney. I hope to become one of your customers, and to
send you some of my friends."
Hunsaker turned to take leave of the ladies.
"I'm fixing up that dinner and play, Miss Posy, so it won't be good-bye.
_Au revoir_?"
"_Au revoir_," said Posy.
*III*
Quinney accompanied them downstairs. When he returned to the sanctuary,
Tomlin was the first to greet him.
"Joe," he said, "I've always wondered how a man without education could
win your position in the trade. Now I know."
"Honesty pays, Tom, sometimes. Which reminds me of that cheque I gave
you. Hand it over, old man!"
Tomlin did so reluctantly.
"Am I entitled to a com. on the sale of that lac cabinet?"
"As between man and man you are not, but when it comes to furnishin' the
great and growin' town of Hunsaker with fancy bits, why you shan't be
left out in the cold."
"So long," said Tomlin. He saluted the ladies politely, pausing at the
door to address Susan:
"You hang on to Joe, ma'am. He'll make you Lady Quinney yet."
Tomlin had heard of the prediction made long ago by the Queen of the
Gipsies.
"Send up James Miggott," said Quinney.
He was left alone with Susan and Posy. The girl broke the silence:
"Father!"
"Wait! James is coming."
The hardness had gone from his voice. Susan, far too dazed to realize
what had taken place, but knowing vaguely that her husband seemed to
have triumphed greatly, exclaimed joyously:
"Ah, Joe, you're going to forgive them."
"Forgive--him? I ain't settled with James yet."
"He was only bluffing," faltered Posy. "He told me so."
"Did he?" said her father.
James entered. He had recovered his self-possession, and something of
his native impudence. Quinney, it was true, had outwitted him, but the
great fact remained--Posy loved him.
"Stand you there, my lad!"
James remained near the door, thinking of Posy's three thousand pounds,
which, unhappily, could not be touched till she was twenty-one. Men
have, however, waited longer for less.
"So you was bluffing--hey?"
"Posy knew that I wouldn't injure you, sir."
"And you thought I was bluffing, but I wasn't. I'd sooner go to
gaol--yes, I would--than see you married to my daughter. And why?
Because you're after things."
"I want Posy."
"I see no margin of profit for Posy if you want her, and nothing else."
"Posy wants me."
"No, you're wrong, my lad. Posy wants the man she thinks you to be, not
the man you are."
He approached Posy, looking her over, appraising her points.
"You ain't a judge of quality yet," he said to her. "This young feller
is a fake. Don't shake your pretty head! He's not good enough for you,
and that's why I forbid the banns. Your pore mother thinks it's a
matter of pounds, shillings, and pence with me. Well, I know the value
of money, because I've made it. Money can buy nearly everything and
everybody. Money can buy you, Posy."
"It can't."
"It can buy you from him."
He turned sharply, staring contemptuously at James, appraising him also
as the young man stood before him, erect and defiant.
"James Miggott----"
"Sir?"
"You have stolen something which is mine. I'll buy it back at my own
price."
"You can't buy Posy from me?"
"Have you settled yet with Mabel Dredge?"
"What do you mean, sir?"
His voice remained impudently firm, but into his eyes crept a furtive
expression.
"It seems, my lad, that Mabel Dredge wants you, and you wanted her
before Posy came back from school. Took all she had to give, too."
"Oh!" exclaimed Posy.
Quinney continued scathingly: "You were mean enough to break with her,
when my girl appeared, but she didn't break with you. As a moral
millionaire, James Miggott, you're--bust!"
Susan saw James's face, evidence damning to any woman of intuitions.
She cried aloud dolorously:
"He stole the roses from her pore cheeks! Oh, the everlasting
wickedness of some men!"
Quinney smiled derisively.
"And, oh! the everlasting foolishness of some women! Mabel Dredge still
wants him."
James, floundering in quicksands, attempted to lie his way out of them.
"It isn't true."
"Pah!" said Quinney. "You're nicely decorated, and there's a smooth
buttery glaze to you, but your paste is rotten! Now, let's get to
business. Posy and her mother think that I value things more than
persons. Here"--he snatched up Hunsaker's cheque--"is a _thing_ worth
eleven hundred pounds. I offer you this, James Miggott, and with it
Mabel Dredge, who prefers flashy stuff. You must choose, and choose
quick, between Mabel, _plus_ this cheque, and Posy in her go-to-meetin'
clothes, _plus_ her mother, who's right, by Gum, not to trust her alone
with you."
Personality can be irresistible. This little man, with all his
disabilities, held these three persons spellbound under the magic of his
voice and manner. Posy's bosom was heaving with emotion; Susan stared,
open-eyed and open-mouthed, at the lover of Laburnum Row, her Joe,
miraculously restored to her. James glared at his master, recognizing
him as such, defiant still, but stricken dumb. Quinney chuckled.
"The cheque won't be on offer long, my lad. Better take it! Better take
it! It's--endorsed."
James hesitated, casting a furtive glance at Posy. She met his eyes
bravely; and he knew that she saw him unmistakably as he was. Quinney
flipped the cheque with his finger.
"Better take it--quick!"
James took it, and fled.
*IV*
Posy fell weeping into a chair. It is significant, perhaps, that Susan
for the moment disregarded her daughter. Joe seemed to fill her eyes
and the room. She fluttered towards him, stretching out her hands,
calling him by name.
"You are--wonderful!"
The old phrase fell inevitably from her lips. He was acclaimed as the
senior partner, rehabilitated. She did not entreat forgiveness, because
she divined proudly that he would not wish his wife to humble herself.
Quinney kissed her joyously.
But Posy's bitter sobbing spoilt the sweetness of that kiss. Husband
and wife remembered guiltily their child.
"Come you here, Posy," said Quinney. "Come to your old dad, my pretty!"
She obeyed him, hiding her head upon his shoulder, feeling the pressure
of his arms, and then hearing his voice:
"I've paid more for you, Posy, than any thing I've got. And I shall
hold tight on to you till Mr. Right comes along. You'll know him when
you see him, missy, because of this nasty little experience with Mr.
Wrong."
He stroked her hair, caressed her cheek, touching her lovingly with the
tips of his fingers. Posy looked up.
"You do love me, don't you?"
"By God," he answered, "I do."