III
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.