“You will be very helpful,” he went on. “You are young. They will like a bright face. You shall wait on them. You will know them by their fine clothes, fur coats, all that. And I—” He looked over his cheap garments. “I shall wait on the poor ones, the ones who buy a few towels or some very poor dishes.
“Yes, you wait on the fine ladies. Only—” he held up a finger, “always I make the price.”
An artist looking in upon this bewhiskered, shabbily dressed keeper of a second-hand store and his niece all pink and fresh in her spotless smock, would have found contrast to suit his taste.
“See!” Nicholas Fischer spoke again, “I will break open the locks and lift the lids, but you must not unpack the trunks. Leave that to the fine ladies. They will tell you they are ‘exploring.’”
“But supposing they find something truly valuable—a—a diamond or something!” Grace protested.
“If they find a diamond, then I drop dead. What will it matter?” Nicholas Fischer laughed hoarsely.
“But you keep watch.” His shrewd eyes gleamed. “If you find a diamond, then you and I will buy us a Christmas present.”
“Good!” It was the girl’s turn to laugh. “Christmas will soon be here. I’ll find the diamond, you’ll see, and a few stocks and bonds for good measure.”
“Yes. Stocks and bonds.” Seizing a hammer and chisel, Nicholas Fischer pried off the lock of a large, round-topped trunk. “The round-topped ones,” he commented, “they come from the country. Sometimes there are very fine wool blankets in these. Then we make a few dollars.”
While her uncle was prying away at the locks, the girl had an opportunity to study the trunks that, standing as they did, huddled in a group and tipped this way and that, reminded her of a picture she had seen of six very tipsy men awaiting the police wagon.