Quinneys 37

Quinneys 37

"Yes," Quinney replied, with equal gravity, "this is my private

collection, Mr. Hunsaker; everything I value most in the world,

including my wife and daughter. Lordy! How I hate rubbish! Rubbish is

beastly!" He pointed to the lacquer cabinet, purposely distracting the

young man’s attention from the chairs. "Now a cabinet like that makes

me think of heaven. I can say my prayers to it!"

 

Susan said, with a touch of her mother’s majesty:

 

"Joe, how you do go on!"

 

"Yes, my dear, I go on and _up_! We’d be stewin’ in our own juice in a

silly old sleepy town if it hadn’t been for me. On and—up! What a

motter for a Christmas cracker! Married the right woman, too, a perfect

lady!"

 

"Joe—please!"

 

Hunsaker was much amused. He had liked the little man at first sight;

he was quite as delighted with his family. Quinney continued in high

good humour:

 

"I chose her"—he pointed at Susan, who blushed. "And the result," he

pointed at Posy, who did not blush, "justifies my choice—hey?"

 

"You bet it does," said Hunsaker. "Miss Quinney is by all odds the most

precious object in this wonderful room—the gem, if I may say so, of your

remarkable collection."

 

Quinney gazed fondly at his daughter. He had almost forgotten the

chairs.

 

"Just like a bit of Chelsea, Mr. Hunsaker. The real soft paste, and as

good as she’s pretty; the apple of her father’s eye. Plays the pianner

and the mandoline! Sings like a canary!"

 

Posy expostulated.

 

"Father! Please!" She put her finger to her pretty lips.

 

Hunsaker, feeling that he had known these pleasant people all his life,

said significantly:

 

"You won’t keep her long, sir."

 

"What?"

 

"Not if there are any spry young men about."

 

Quinney betrayed real uneasiness. It flashed upon him suddenly that

this abominable loss was inevitable. He consoled himself with the

reflection that no spry young men had been about. Then he said with

unction:

 

"I’m going to hang on tight to my little girl. She is the gem of my

collection. Cost me more than money, too." He sank his voice

confidentially. "Nearly cost me her pore dear mother. By Gum! I

remember swearing that I’d give up selling imitation oak as the real

stuff, if my old Dutch pulled through."

 

"And did you?" Hunsaker asked.

 

"I did. More, I tore up a big card that used to live in our front

window—’_Genuine Antiques!_’ Yes; never sold faked stuff after that,

unless labelled as such. Lordy! I’m wastin’ your valuable time."

 

"Not at all."

 

"Posy, show Mr. Hunsaker that case o’ miniatures. I’ve a Samuel Cooper,

two Englehearts, a Plimer, and half a dozen Cosways."

 

Hunsaker shook his head.

 

"I know nothing about miniatures. There’s a daisy of a china cabinet!"

 

"It is. Delighted to show you stuff, Mr. Hunsaker. You’ve the

collector’s eye. Take a squint at those blue and white jars on the

mantelpiece."

 

"I’d sooner look at your chairs."

 

Quinney said lightly:

 

"You can look, at anything you like, Mr. Hunsaker, but I understood from

Mr. Tomlin that you had all the mahogany you wanted."

 

"More than I want," replied Hunsaker grimly. "I’ve been much imposed

upon, Mr. Quinney, with mahogany."

 

Susan flitted quietly from the room. Posy began to rub the lacquer of

the Chinese cabinet. She heard her father saying:

 

"Dear, dear! I’ve been done, too—crisp as a biscuit! Everybody’s done,

hey?"

 

"I’m never done twice by the same man." He bent down to examine the

carving of the chairs. "These are immense—the finest I’ve ever seen."

 

"By Gum! I wish you could have seen the settee which I sold to the

Grand Duke of Roosia."

 

Hunsaker hardly heard him. He was becoming absorbed in the chairs.

 

"The papers report you as having paid nine hundred pounds for the set."

 

Quinney chuckled, nodding his head.

 

"That’s right! I’d had two glasses of old brown sherry after lunch. My

tip to all and sundry is: Buy before lunch, unless you’re a blooming

vegetarian and teetotaler."

 

Hunsaker prided himself upon the directness of his business methods. He

said tentatively:

 

"Would you take a handsome profit on these chairs?"

 

"You look at that lac cabinet, and you won’t want to buy chairs."

 

Hunsaker did look at the lac cabinet, and the girl beside it, softly

rubbing its polished surface. He crossed to her, smiling.

 

"On a Charles the Second stand," added Quinney. "The inside is as

beautiful as the outside—more so. I’ll show it to you. Where’s the

key?"

 

He addressed Posy, but she pretended not to hear him.

 

"Where’s the key?" he repeated.

 

"I saw it yesterday," said Posy quietly. Her heart began to beat

uncomfortably, as she thought of her letter in the middle drawer.

 

"Can you see it now, missie? Is it on the floor?"

 

Hunsaker interrupted:

 

"Please don’t trouble. Is that screen Chinese?"

 

"Yes; incised lacquer. They wanted that for the South Kensington

Museum. Hits you bang in the eye, don’t it?"

 

Hunsaker examined it as Quinney expatiated upon the enamelling and

colour. His enthusiasm, his accurate knowledge, his love of precious

objects for their beauty of design and craftsmanship, impressed the

young man tremendously. He remembered what Tomlin had said: "You’ll

find Quinney a character. What he tells you is right is right! That’s

how he’s built up a thumping big business." Hunsaker had not been

vastly impressed by Tomlin, but he was quite certain that he had spoken

the truth about Quinney. His heart warmed to the little man. When

Quinney paused he said gratefully:

 

"I’m much obliged; it’s an education to see such treasures."

 

"The only education I’ve had, Mr. Hunsaker."

 

"I only wish that I could tempt you to part with one of them—this

cabinet, for instance."

 

"It’s not for sale. I’d like to oblige you. Is there anything else you

particularly fancy?"

 

Hunsaker’s roving eye was captivated by the K’ang He mirror-black

bottle, standing alone in its glory upon the top of the cabinet.

 

"I like that black and gold jar."

 

"Um! It’s not bad, but there ought to be two of ’em."

 

Posy wiped her pretty forehead. At the mention of the K’ang He jar, in

which lay snug the key of the cabinet, she had trembled with

apprehension. Hunsaker said quickly:

 

"I’d like the chairs best of all. You bought them yesterday for nine

hundred. Will you take eleven hundred?"

 

"Yes," said Quinney, "I will."

 

He pulled out a pocket-book and extracted a slip of paper from it.

 

"You can have this, Mr. Hunsaker. Don’t destroy it! Keep it in your

safe."

 

Hunsaker took it.

 

"Christopher’s receipt for my cheque. It proves that the chairs fetched

the price named at public auction."

 

"Thank you."

 

"And now, to sweeten our first deal, I’ll make you a little present.

You fancied that K’ang He bottle. It’s yours."

 

He advanced towards the bottle. Posy said hurriedly:

 

"Shall I go and clean it, father?"

 

"Clean it? It’s as clean as you are, my pretty."

 

"You are very generous," said Hunsaker.

 

Quinney winked and chuckled joyously.