"Never mind," she insisted, "we shall look at the collection. I can see at a glance that it is a fine one, and it is not yet time to go to the Waltons'."
The collection in question, we learned, was a private one offered for sale by a boom victim, whose inflated ideas of Pasadena real estate had at one time stimulated his artistic desires to ruinous extravagance. At that time he had ransacked the country for miles around for rare baskets, regardless of price, which now he was obliged to sell.
I learned later that Mrs. Sanderson was ever upon the look-out for forced sales. Keenly alive to chances for procuring things at half price, she was always alert for the critical moment.
Her enthusiasms over the existing opportunities were those of a connoisseur loaded with the offered commodity, yet unable to endure the thought of a Philistine invasion.
She said it was wrong for her to consider the purchase of another Indian basket, but if the beautiful cora with the feathers was not so extravagant in price she might possibly add it to her collection.
The clerk in attendance now signaled the owner of the baskets from the rear of the store. The gentleman came at once, and tried in vain to convince Mrs. Sanderson that the cora with the feathers was so unusually rare that it was worth much more than the price demanded. He said pathetically that his collection was very dear to him, he loved each basket with a different degree of affection, for he had discovered them all. Each had a little history.
Dearest of all was the beautiful cora which the lady admired, and nothing but absolute necessity compelled him to part with it.
Mrs. Sanderson replied that she understood perfectly his feelings. She, too, had always been a great collector. She had even at this late day discovered baskets, and knew now of a Mexican settlement where valuable things were still in hiding. She thought she would soon go upon a tour of discovery, and perhaps she might find a cora with feathers. She was sorry not to assist the gentleman in his difficulties. She would be very fond of the feather basket, she knew, and if the price were reduced upon three larger baskets as well as upon the one she admired, she might possibly take all four. However, she had best flee from temptation. It was getting late, after twelve, and the Waltons were expecting them at one.
With her inimitable smile she bade us make haste to depart, while she sympathetically hoped, in the hearing of the obsequious clerk who opened the door, that the feather basket might soon find a purchaser who would appreciate its beauty.
As she left the store her deliberation was masterly. Before she had reached the sidewalk the clerk had motioned her back. The four baskets were hers at half their value.