“And ’e buys it off of you?” asked Mr. Tridge, incredulous.
Momentarily Mr. Dobb’s eye drooped.
“’E don’t know so very much about hart,” he observed. “’E goes very largely by what I tells ’im.”
“And what do you know about hart?” asked Mr. Lock, gaping.
“If I can do business by making out I knows things,” said Mr. Dobb, firmly, “I knows ’em! See? Anyway, I make out I do. And ’e’s got the money to spare to get a collection together, and ’e comes to me to ’elp ’im, and I ain’t the man to refuse ’elp to anyone with money. Pounds and pounds ’e’s spent with me, just on my recommendation. I let ’im think that I think ’e knows nearly as much as I do about hart, and ’e thinks, therefore, as I wouldn’t think of cheating ’im.”
“There seems a lot of thinking about it,” said Mr. Lock.
“It’s a hobby of mine,” returned Mr. Dobb, “thinking is.”
“And you wouldn’t dream of deceiving ’im, I’ll lay!” said Mr. Tridge, ironically. “No more would I sell a chap off the ‘Raven’ a solid, rolled-gold himitation ring for a quid if I ’ad ’alf a chance!”
“China and brickybacks ’e’s bought off of me, and a few rare old prints, and some genuine hoil-paintings,” catalogued Mr. Dobb. “And some odds and ends what ’e calls bigjewrious and virtue. ’E’s got the money to spend, and ’e wants to spend it, and ’oo am I to stand in the way of a man’s wishes?”
“It’s better than a lottery,” said Mr. Clark, wistfully. “And ’ave you got ’im all to yourself, ’Orace?”