“We’ve heard more than enough about those. Here have you been rubbing for that signature for the best part of a fortnight, and you pretend to have found a Van Roon, and you keep it as close as the tomb.”
“I had found Van Roon, sir, long before I came upon his name.”
“Rubbish! What do you know of Van Roon?”
“There is a Van Roon in the treasure house in the Square,” said William with his inward smile.
“There’s only one,” snapped S. Gedge Antiques, “in the treasure house in the Square, as you call it, and it’s a very small one, too.”
“Ours is very small, sir. All Van Roons are small. And they are very scarce.”
“They are so scarce, my friend, that you’ll never convince anybody that ours is genuine.”
“There’s no need, sir, provided you know it is yourself.”
“But that’s just what I don’t know,” said the old man. “Anyhow you had better go upstairs and fetch it. I’ll have a look at the signature of Mynheer Van Roon.” And then Uncle Si scowled at his niece who, in a state of growing excitement, had already begun to remove the bread and cheese from the supper table.
While the young man went up to the attic, his master ruminated.