The presiding genius (and being a dealer he is usually a genius), who had really ticketed the article thirty pounds, approaches it, removes the ticket by a little sleight-of-hand and says, "Thirty-eight guineas, Sir," without a blush (the dealer who blushes is hounded from the ring). This method of dealing is direct action of the most dangerous kind.
The other method, and the one I most usually adopt, I can best illustrate by detailing my interview with the proprietor of Smalley's on the occasion when I went dressering.
I sidled into the shop in garments carefully selected from my pre-wardrobe and wearing a vacant expression. Picking up a piece of china I examined it carefully, turning it upside down, as though to search for a pottery mark, which I probably should never have recognised.
"H'm, not bad," I said.
"One of the best bits of Dresden I've ever had," said the dealer. "I want——"
"Ah, German," I said, putting the thing down hurriedly as though it might be mined. "It may be a good piece, but—what is the price of that brass fender?"
"Seven-ten, old Dutch and a bargain," said the dealer laconically.
"But probably wouldn't fit the fireplace in my mind. Though," I added to myself, "it might fit the one in our dining-room."
I thought it about time to notice the dresser, not to attempt to buy it yet—oh dear no, but merely to fire the first shot in the campaign as it were.
"What kind of a dresser do you call this?" I said. "Slightly moth-eaten, isn't it?"