"The postmistress again!" exclaimed George, hurrying to the front door.
"I hadn't hardly got back home, sir, when there come another. I do hope, sir, it ain't bad news again," said the good woman, as she handed over a second telegram.
"It's of no consequence," said George.
"I'm very glad it ain't no worse, sir. I hope, sir, you'm going on well," said Mrs. Cann, trusting that an interpretation of these telegrams might be vouchsafed to her.
George cautiously replied that his lumbago was improving daily; then he returned to the dining room and said, "Here's a telegram from an American named Anderson. He asks me not to deal with any one until he calls, and he offers seventeen hundred."
"I don't know the fellow," said Jenkins suspiciously. "I would advise you to have nothing to do with him. He may be a crook, a man of straw."
"He's all right," said George. "Crampy sent me a list of collectors I could trust, and his name is on it. I suppose Crampy himself is safe, as a firm of lawyers, who are supposed to be respectable, sent him down here."
"Crampy is as genuine as the rising sun. He's valuer to your Court of Probate, he's got a fixed place of business, his name's in the Directory. He's just got to tote fair, but he won't get rich till he grows more brain. I've known Crampy to pay down big money for a fake."
"He made me an offer for these vases," said George.
"I'll double it," cried the millionaire, nestling down to his cheque-book.