Char-less for the time being, assistant-less also, this morning S. Gedge was not only looking his age, he was feeling it; but he had already begun to examine the contents of a large packing case from Ipswich which Messrs. Carter Paterson had delivered half an hour ago at the back of the premises by the side entry. Handicapped as S. Gedge Antiques at the moment was, he could well have deferred these labours until later in the day. Human curiosity, however, had claimed him as a victim.
By a side wind he had heard of a sale at a small and rather inaccessible house in the country where a few things might be going cheap. As this was to take place in the course of William’s holiday, the young man had been given a few pounds to invest, provided that in his opinion “the goods were full value.” By trusting William to carry out an operation of such delicacy, his master whose name in trade circles was that of “a very keen buyer” was really paying him the highest compliment in his power. For the god of S. Gedge Antiques was money. In the art of “picking things up,” however, William had a lucky touch. His master could depend as a rule on turning over a few shillings on each of the young man’s purchases; indeed there were occasions when the few shillings had been many. The truth was that William’s flair for a good thing was almost uncanny.
Adroit use of a screwdriver prised the lid off the packing case. A top layer of shavings was removed. With the air of a dévot the old man dug out William’s first purchase and held it up to the light of New Cross Street, or to as much of that dubious commodity as could filter down the side entry.
Purchase the first proved to be a copy of an engraving by P. Bartolozzi: the Mrs. Lumley and Her Children of Sir Joshua Reynolds. An expert eye priced it at once a safe thirty shillings in the window of the front shop, although William had been told not to exceed a third of that sum at Loseby Grange, Saxmundham. So far so good. With a feeling of satisfaction S. Gedge laid the engraving upon a chair of ornate appearance but doubtful authenticity, and proceeded to remove more straw from the packing case. Before, however, he could deal with William’s second purchase, whatever it might be, he was interrupted.
A voice came from the front shop.
“Uncle Si! Uncle Si! Where are you?”
The voice was feminine. S. Gedge Antiques, crusted bachelor and confirmed hater of women, felt a sudden pang of dismay.
“Where are you, Uncle Si?”
“Com-ming!” A low roar boomed from the interior of the packing case. It failed, however, to get beyond the door of the lumber room.
“That girl of Abe’s” ruminated the old man deep in straw. In the stress of affairs, he had almost forgotten that the only child of a half brother many years his junior, was coming to London by the morning train.