“Figure?” said Uncle Si dreamily; and then in his odd way he scratched his scrub of whisker with a thumbnail and rubbed a forefinger down his long and foxlike nose.
“Your price, Meester Gedge?”
“Mussewer!” said the old man solemnly, “I couldn’t take less than five thousand pounds, I couldn’t really.”
June held her breath. For some little time past she had been convinced that the picture was valuable, but she was hardly prepared for this fabulous sum.
M. Duponnet shook his head. “Meester Gedge, if only we had its ’istory!”
“If we had its history, Mussewer, I should want at least twice the money. Even as it is I am taking a big chance. You know that as well as I do.”
This seemed to be true. At all events, M. Duponnet and Mr. Thornton again talked earnestly together. Once more they fingered that rather dilapidated canvas. Head to head they bent over it yet again; and then suddenly M. Duponnet looked up and came abruptly across to the old man.
“Meester Gedge,” he said, “I can’t go beyond four t’ousand pounds. That is my limit!”
“Five, Mussewer Duponny, that is mine,” said Uncle Si, with a dark smile.
It was a jejune thing for a French gentleman to do, but at this point M. Duponnet really and truly gave his shoulders a shrug, and advanced three paces towards the shop door. Uncle Si did not stir a muscle. And then M. Duponnet faced about and said: “Guineas, Meester Gedge, I’ll give four t’ousand guineas, and that’s my last word.”