Weston’s prophesy that the trunks contained “only junk” proved to be true. As trunk after trunk was opened, their search for hidden treasure continued to be unrewarded. Always there was the suggestion of pinching poverty, carelessness and neglect. These trunks were lost to their owners because they had not the ready money to pay the charges. One need not say that such as these have few valuable treasures to pack in a trunk.
The air of the small shop grew heavy with the odor of soiled clothing, cheap, highly scented soap and spilled talcum powder. The ladies had given up the search and were wandering about, looking at books, when the searching party came at last upon the three large pigskin bags from the British Isles.
“There is something to intrigue you!” exclaimed Angelo. “And see! They are all tightly locked.”
Kay King’s eyes shone. He had bid in these bags at a rather high figure. He was hoping that his judgment regarding their contents had been correct.
“Let me try these.” He rattled a huge bunch of keys. Not one of them would open the bags. “Oh well,” he smiled, “one may pick his own locks.” With skill born of ripe experience he opened the locks with a bit of twisted wire.
“Now!” He breathed deeply. “Now!”
They all crowded around. A wide-mouthed bag flew open, revealing its contents. At once an exclamation was on every lip. Not one of them all but knew on the instant that Kay had made an exceedingly good buy. The bag was packed to the very top with the choicest of wearing apparel. Indeed, not one of them all had worn such rich garments. A man’s outfit included shirts of finest silk and softest woolens, suits of broadcloth and shoes of rarest quality.
The second bag, though varying somewhat in its contents, matched the first in quality.
It was the third bag that set them gasping. For in this one the owner had packed with tender care the articles dearest to his heart. An ivory toilet set mounted with gold, a costly present from some dear friend; a brace of gold-mounted pistols; fountain pens; paper knives, elaborately carved; an astonishing collection of rare articles. And at one side, carefully wrapped in a swathing of silk, were three oval frames of beaten gold. Petite Jeanne’s fingers trembled as she unwrapped them and revealed, one after another, the portraits of a beautiful lady, a handsome boy and a marvelous girl, all dimples and golden hair.
“Oh!” She breathed deeply and the breath was half a sob.