"He doesn't. He wants anything that's old. Old clothes, old carpets, anything that's old he'll buy."
He seemed to be exactly the man I wanted.
"Introduce me to your fellow clubman," I said firmly.
That evening I wrote to Henry's friend, Mr. Bennett. "Dear Sir," I wrote, "if you would call upon me to-morrow I should like to show you some really old things, all genuine antiques. In particular I would call your attention to an old opera hat of exquisite workmanship, and a mouse-trap of chaste and handsome design. I have also a few yards of Queen Anne linoleum of a circular pattern which I think will please you. My James the First spring-grip dumb-bells and Louis Quatorze curtain-rods are well known to connoisseurs. A genuine old cork bedroom suite, comprising one bath-mat, will also be included in the sale. Yours faithfully."
On second thoughts I tore the letter up and sent Mr. Bennett a postcard asking him to favour the undersigned with a call at 10.30 prompt. And at 10.30 prompt he came.
I had expected to see a bearded patriarch with a hooked nose and three hats on his head, but Mr. Bennett turned out to be a very spruce gentleman, wearing (I was sorry to see) much better clothes than the opera hat I proposed to sell him. He became businesslike at once.
"Just tell me what you want to sell," he said, whipping out a pocket-book, "and I'll make a note of it. I take anything."
I looked round my spacious apartment and wondered what to begin with.
"The revolving bookcase," I announced.
"I'm afraid there's very little sale for revolving bookcases now," he said, as he made a note of it.