"Why, I have my own business, Dankmere——"
"Is it enough to keep you busy?"
"No—not yet—but I——"
"Then, like a good fellow, help me sell these damned pictures. I haven't any money to offer you, Quarren, but if you'll be willing to hang the pictures around your office here and in the back parlour and the extension, and if you'll talk the merry talk to the lunatics who may come in to look at 'em and tell 'em what the bally pictures are and fix the proper prices—why—why, I'll make any arrangement with you that you please. Say a half interest, now. Would that be fair?"
"Fair? Of course! It's far too liberal an offer—but I——"
"It's worth that to me, Quarren—if you can see your way to helping me out——"
"But my help isn't worth half what these pictures might very easily bring—even at public auction——"
"Why not? I'd have to pay an auctioneer, an expert to appraise them—an art dealer to hang them in his gallery for a couple of weeks—either that or rent a place by the year. The only way I can recompense you for your wall space, for talking art talk to visitors, for fixing prices, is to offer you half of what we make. Why not? You pay a pretty stiff rent here, don't you? You also pay a servant. You pay for heat and light, don't you? So if you'll turn this floor into a combination gallery of sorts—art and real estate, you see—we'll go into business, egad! What? The Dankmere galleries! What? By gad I'll have a sign made to hang out there beside your shingle—only I'm afraid you'll have to pay for it, Quarren, and recompense yourself after we sell the first picture."
"But, Dankmere," he protested, very much amused, "I don't want to become a picture dealer."
"What's the harm? Take a shot at it, old chap! A young man can't collect too many kinds of experience. Take me for example!—I've sold dogs and hunters on commission, gone shares in about every rotten scheme anybody ever suggested to me, financed a show, and acted in it—as you know—and, by gad!—here I am now a dealer in old masters! Be a good fellow and come in with me. What?"