“I’ll write you out a cheque,” promised Mr. Lister, and this agreeable feat he was in the act of beginning when the advent of Mr. Horace Dobb was announced.
Mr. Dobb, proclaiming that he had come specially to bring Mr. Lister a saucer which matched a cup already in his collection, betrayed considerable surprise at view of the picture.
“Well, now, I do ’ope you ain’t going to start collecting trash like that, sir?” he observed, reproachfully.
“Trash, Mr. Dobb?” echoed Mr. Lister. “I’m surprised at a man of your knowledge saying that! Can’t you see that it’s a genuine Old Master? Trash, hindeed!” he said again, indignantly.
Mr. Dobb bent and scrutinized the landscape closely. Then he shook his head, and smiled tolerantly.
“Pincott’s got to learn the business, just as I ’ad to,” he said. “That ain’t a Old Master, sir, and never was!”
“Don’t you take no notice of ’im, sir!” begged Mr. Pincott. “Why, ’e was after this very pickcher ’imself!”
“Oh, no, not me!” disclaimed Horace. “I only buys and sells genuine stuff.”
“This is genuine!” insisted Mr. Pincott.
“So’s that ’ere diamond in your necktie,” scoffed Mr. Dobb. “I don’t think!”