“Of course I know how,” said June.
“Your mother seems to have brought you up properly. If you give your mind to your job and you’re not above soiling your hands I quite expect we’ll be able to do without the char.”
June, her large eyes fixed on Uncle Si, did not flinch from the prospect. She went boldly, head high, in the direction of the scullery sink while S. Gedge Antiques proceeded to burrow deeper and deeper into the packing case.
Presently he dug out a bowl of Lowestoft china, which he tapped with a finger nail and held up to the light.
“It’s a good piece,” he reflected. “There’s one thing to be said for that boy—he don’t often make mistakes. I wonder what he paid for this. However, I shall know presently,” and S. Gedge placed the bowl on a chair opposite the engraving “after” P. Bartolozzi.
His researches continued, but there was not much to follow. Still, that was to be expected. William had only been given twenty pounds and the bowl alone was a safe fiver. The old man was rather sorry that William had not been given more to invest. However, there was a copper coal-scuttle that might be polished up to fetch three pounds, and a set of fire irons and other odds and ends, not of much account in themselves, but all going to show that good use had been made of the money.
“Niece,” called Uncle Si when at last the packing case was empty, “come and give a hand here.”
With bright and prompt efficiency June helped to clear up the débris and to haul the packing case into the backyard.
The old man said at the successful conclusion of these operations:
“Now see what you can do with those potatoes. Boil ’em in their skins. There’s less waste that way and there’s more flavour.”