“About five years—going on six now. How long have you been here?”
“How long? Well—” Here he bent over the table against which he had been leaning, selected a cup from a group of china, turned it upside down in search of the mark, and then, as if he had momentarily forgotten himself, answered slowly: “Oh, not long—a few months or so. You do not object to my looking these over?” he asked, this time reversing a plate and subjecting it to the same scrutiny.
“No, so ye don't let go of 'em. Fellow come in here last week and broke a teapot foolin' wid it.”
The visitor, without replying, continued his cool examination of the collection, consisting of articles of different makes and colors. Presently, gathering up a pair of cups and saucers, he said: “These should be in a glass case or in the safe. They are old Spode and very rare. Ah, here is Mr. Kling! I have amused myself, sir, in looking over part of your stock. You seem to have undervalued these cups and saucers. They are very rare, and if you had a full set of them they would be almost priceless. This is old Spode,” he continued, pointing to the cipher on the bottom of each cup.
“Vell, I didn't tink dot ven I bought it.”
There was no greeting, no reference to their having met before. One might have supposed that their last talk had been uninterrupted.
“It vas all in a lump, and der vas a soup tureen in de lot—I don't know vot I did vid it. I tink dat's up-stairs. Mike, you go up and ask my little girl Masie if she can find dot big tureen vich I bought from old Mrs. Blobbs who keeps dot old-clothes place on Second Avenue. And you vas sure about dis china?”
“Very sure.”
“How do you know?”
“From the mark.”