Late dinner followed, a partie carrée. Joe provided champagne, and port in a cut-glass decanter. Warmed by this splendid hospitality, Tomlin became anecdotal. Perhaps he wanted to astonish the ladies. Unquestionably he succeeded in doing so. One story will suffice to illustrate Tomlin's methods, and it was told, be it remembered, with exuberant chucklings within two hundred yards of the Cathedral Close.
"It's becoming harder every day, ma'am," he addressed Mrs. Biddlecombe, "to get hold of the right stuff—cheap. I have agents everywhere. Old Mr. Quinney was one. And now and again they hear of a real bargain. Often as not the people who 'ave it won't part. They would part, ma'am, if they was offered the right price, but that wouldn't be business. No. Well, only the other day, I got hold of the sweetest table, genuine Adam, and hand-painted! Paid a fiver for it!"
"Really, did you now?" murmured Mrs. Biddlecombe For all she knew a "fiver" might be a large or a small price. Tomlin continued:
"Yes, ma'am, a fi' pun note. It was this way. The table belonged to a decayed gentlewoman, who'd seen better days, and needed money."
Mrs. Biddlecombe sighed; the anecdote had become almost personal, and therefore the more interesting.
"That may happen to any of us," she murmured.
"She had inherited this table from her grandma," continued Tomlin, "and my agent heard of it, and saw it. He offered the old lady four pun ten, and she wouldn't deal. Obstinate as a mule she was!"
"Sensible old dear, I call her," said Quinney.
"My agent was fairly boiled, and then inspiration struck him. He never went near the old gal for a couple of months. Then he called with a friend, a stout, red-faced man, bit of an amateur actor. My agent introduced him as a collector of choice bits. Asked if he might show him the little table. Old lady was willing enough, and of course the low comedy feller crabbed it."
"Stale dodge that," remarked Quinney.