Chapter VIII: Book II (8)

"I do," said Tomlin gloomily. He added with finality: "Port, even the best, atop o' bubbly wine is a mistake after fifty. What you want me for, young Joe?"

"Glad I look young, Tom. I don't feel it this morning."

Tomlin stared at him.

"Blest if you ain't made a night of it, too."

"Here's something to cheer us up."

He pushed across the desk Hunsaker's cheque for eleven hundred pounds. Tomlin's heavy features relaxed into a smile. Quinney scribbled some figures on a memorandum pad, and invited his colleague to verify them. The sum represented the exact amount due to Tomlin as his share of the plunder.

"Quite O.K., Joe."

"Like your bit o' ready now?"

"Never refuse cash, my lad."

Quinney wrote out a cheque, and a receipt. Tomlin accepted the cheque, placing it in a bulky pocket-book. He glared askance at the receipt, which set forth that the sum just paid was a commission upon the sale of eight chairs to Cyrus P. Hunsaker, of Hunsaker.

"Why this receipt, Joe? Ain't a cheque a receipt?"

Quinney answered curtly:

"A cheque don't show what money is paid for. My way of doin' business."

"No complaints."

He chuckled fatly, raising his thick eyebrows when Quinney observed lightly:

"What we done the day before yesterday was a leetle bit dangerous, old man. Sailin' too near the reefs--um?"

Tomlin replied pompously:

"Skilled navigators, my lad, do sail near the reefs. I wouldn't assume such risks with another man."

"But you did!"

"What do you mean, Joe?"

"James Miggott is in the know."

"Of course, but he's had his little bit."

"Yes; but he wants more!"

"The swine!" He stared at Quinney, beholding upon the whimsical face of his pupil writing which he could not read. "What's up?" he spluttered.

"I am," said Quinney, rising; "and stripped for the fight of my life."

Tomlin stirred uneasily.

"A fight, Joe? Who with?"

Quinney answered fiercely:

"That dirty dog, James Miggott. He wants more than what we gave him. See? He wants my Posy."

Tomlin exhibited marked relief.

"Your Posy? Don't blame him for wanting her."

"You hold hard! Young Posy wants him."

"Gawd bless my soul! She's not the judge o' quality he is."

"And Susan backs 'em up. That fairly tears it."

Tomlin looked puzzled, unable to account for the younger man's excitement. He considered that Joe, unlike himself, was incapable of managing his womenfolk.

"Between 'em, Tom, they've got a strangle hold on us."

"Us? What have I to do with your fam'ly matters?"

"I sent for you to tell you. Now, first and last, they'll never have my consent, never! But, by thunder! I refuse my consent, not because the dog's my servant, but because he isn't straight. He's no better than you and me."

Tomlin glared at his former pupil, who stood over him, waving a denunciatory hand.

"You speak for yourself, young man."

"I ain't young. We're both of us old enough to know better and do better, but we've had to make our way. Maybe I've been honester than you, maybe I haven't. I ain't whining, least of all to you. We're in a deep hole of our own making. And we must get out of it. I told this James Miggott last night that we was pots, just common pots, sailin' down the stream with other pots. But my little Posy's porcelain, the finest paste, the gem o' my collection. Susan accuses me of caring for things, these things. So I do; so do you; that's why we've struggled to the front. And this son of a gun loves things, and what they stand for. He's after my things, but he's clever enough to have bluffed two innercent females into believin' that he wants my Posy without 'em."

Tomlin blinked and nodded, stupefied by the terrific feeling displayed by Quinney. His headache had come back, that humiliating sense of "unfitness" which clouded his judgment, leaving him dazed and irritable. Nor, as yet, had he grasped the situation, or measured the depth of the hole to which Quinney alluded. The little man went on:

"I've called his bluff, if it is bluff. I've told him that he can take Posy, march her out of this house as she is."

"What did he say to that?"

"I should have downed him, but, by Gum, the old lady butted in. Swore solemn she'd leave my house, if I turned Posy out. She means it, too!"

"A good riddance," snarled Tomlin.

Quinney exploded, shaking his clenched fist in front of the huge, red face.

"What? I'd have you to know, Tom Tomlin, that my Susan and me have stuck together through thick and thin. I think the world of her, but she's without guile, bless her, and as obstinate as Balaam's ass!"

"S'pose you tell me where I come in?"

"Here and now, by the back-door! This dirty dog threatens to down me with the true story of them chairs. And he'll do it, too. Now, let this soak in together with all that port and champagne you swallered last night. If he downs me, he downs you! Got it?"

Assuredly Tomlin had "got it." He began to shake with impotent rage, growling out:

"Threatens to split? I'd like to tell that young man exactly what I think of him."

"You can," said Quinney derisively; "but it will do you more good than him, I reckon. We'll send for him in a jiffy. Ever notice my typist and stenographer, Miss Dredge?"

"Yes, many a time. Nice-lookin' gal."

"This maggot of a Miggott has been eatin' into her young affections, see?"

"Has he? The young man has taste, Joe. Reg'lar lady-killer!"

Quinney lowered his voice:

"It's a weapon, but I don't rely on it. I can't use it, in fairness to Mabel, till we stand in the last ditch."

"Why not? Got to think of ourselves, ain't we?"

Tomlin pulled out an immense silk bandana, and mopped a heated brow.

"It's two-edged, Tom. You ain't yourself this morning, or you'd see, with your knowledge of the fair sex, that Posy might be keener on gettin' this scamp, if she learned that another woman was after him. We'll try to handle Master Miggott first."

He crossed to the speaking-tube, and summoned James to the sanctuary. Then he sat down, very erect and austere, at his desk.

*III*

Presently James entered, carrying his head at the angle affected by Susan, looking very bland and self-confident.

"Good-morning, Mr. Tomlin! Good-morning, Mr. Quinney!"

Quinney acknowledged this salutation with a derisive grin.

"Mornin', Mr. Chesty! Bin usin' a Sandow's exerciser?"

"No, sir; Indian clubs. Am I to state my case before Mr. Tomlin?"

"Yes. Go ahead and state it. Don't waste my time, or his, or your own."

James addressed himself suavely to Tomlin, selecting his words carefully, speaking slowly, with the utmost respect.

"Last night, Mr. Quinney threatened to turn his daughter into the street, because she's engaged to be married to me."

"My hand was forced, my lad. Go on."

"I can support a wife, and Miss Quinney is ready to marry me by special licence this afternoon."

"Quite sure o' that?"

"Ab--solutely. Unhappily, I'm not yet in a financial position to support two ladies."

"Two ladies?" echoed Quinney, thinking of Mabel Dredge.

"I allude, sir, to Mrs. Quinney. She insists upon leaving you, if her child is turned out. That rather complicates matters."

"It does," said Quinney grimly.

"Under these circumstances, gentlemen, I feel justified in bringing pressure to bear. Mr. Hunsaker, who bought certain chairs yesterday, will call again this morning. He is naturally interested in the history of the chairs; and he might make trouble if he knew all the facts about them as known to you, Mr. Tomlin, to Mr. Quinney, and to me. I may add that my responsibility in the affair is negligible."

"Slick talker," muttered Quinney. He could see that Tomlin was much impressed by James's manner. The big fellow grunted uneasily:

"What do you propose?"

"A compromise, Mr. Tomlin."

Quinney lost something of his dignity, when he jerked out:

"He's compromised my Posy, and many another pore girl, I'll be bound!"

"Pardon me, sir. That sort of talk before a witness is libellous."

The last rag of Quinney's dignity fluttered away.

"I'll down you, my lad; yes, I will!"

"Self-preservation being the first law, sir, I must--sorely against the grain--down you first. Excuse plain speaking."

Quinney jumped up.

"I like plain speaking! I was weaned on it, short-coated on it! By Gum! my father damned me before I was born!"

"Easy all," murmured Tomlin nervously. He addressed James with a civility which the young man acknowledged with a faint smile. "Do I understand that you threaten to down your master because he refuses to sanction an engagement between you and his daughter?"

James shrugged his shoulders.

"It's a case of 'pull, devil--pull, baker!' I mean to pull for all I'm worth."

Quinney interrupted furiously:

"And what are you worth, Lord Rothschild?"

Tomlin held up a large hand, not too clean, upon which sparkled a diamond ring.

"You spoke of compromise, James?"

"Yes, sir. I suggest that my engagement to Miss Quinney should be sanctioned and recognized. I will stay on here, and demonstrate to Mr. Quinney my claims to be taken on later as a junior partner. Unless Miss Quinney of her own will cancels the engagement, the marriage will take place----"

"Never!" shouted Quinney.

James smiled deprecatingly.

"Shall I retire, gentlemen? You have time to talk things over. Mr. Hunsaker will not be here for another hour yet."

Tomlin nodded portentously:

"Yes, yes; leave us."

*IV*

Tomlin was the first to break an ominous silence:

"The long and short of it is, Joe, that this young feller can ruin us, rob us of our hard-earned reputations. We must square him."

"Money? He wants money and Posy!"

Tomlin stroked his chin pensively. It occurred to him that so sharp a practitioner as James Miggott would never come to grief. As a suitor for one of his three daughters, he would not consider him too rashly as ineligible.

"Posy might do worse," he muttered.

"Ho! That's it. Sidin' with them? Thought you might!"

"Face the music, Joe! We're hanged, high as Haman, unless the ladies come to the rescue. It's a bit thick his threatenin' you. How does Posy take that--um?"

"How can I tell her what he's threatening to do? James knows that, the dog!"

"You can hint at unpleasantness. Posy ought to know that her young man is buckin' about ruining you."

"Maybe you'd like to talk to Susan and Posy?"

"I should. I understand women; you don't."

"You shall talk to 'em."

He hurried to the door, and through it on to the landing.

"Susan!--Su--san!"

Susan's voice was heard descending from above:

"Is that you calling, Joe?"

"Who did yer think it was? The Archbishop o' Canterbury or the First Lord of the Admiralty? Come you down quick, and bring Posy with you."

He stumped back into the sanctuary to confront Tomlin's scornful face.

"That the way you talk to an angry woman? Had any words with Mrs. Quinney this morning?"

"I've been talking to her and at her, off and on, ever since breakfast."

"Pore, dear soul!" ejaculated Tomlin.

*CHAPTER XXII*

*A TEST*

*I*

Posy may have been crying, but the colour and sparkle remained in her eyes; and she had arrayed herself in a smart and becoming costume, which Quinney recognized as "Sunday best." Let women decide what motive animated this preening. If she were to be turned out of Soho Square, Posy, not unreasonably, may have decided to take her prettiest frock with her. On the other hand, with equal wisdom, she may have thought that the sight of a charming young woman in all her bravery is likely to melt the heart of the sternest man. Because she appeared on this momentous morning fresh and alluring, let us not accuse her of heartlessness. If destined by Fate to lose a father, she would gain a husband. Poor Susan, limp and bedraggled, was miserably sensible that victory for her would inflict consequences more crushing than defeat.

"Goin' to church?" Quinney inquired of his daughter.

Posy replied respectfully:

"Only if driven there by you."

Tomlin, rumbling and grumbling after his dietical indiscretions, greeted the young lady with a phrase often on his lips:

"Seasonable weather for the time of year?"

Susan glanced at him scornfully, and said audibly:

"Fiddle!"

Quinney apologized for this breach of politeness after his own fashion:

"Be'ind the door, she was, Tom, when they collected threepence a head for manners. Now, sit you down!"

Tomlin waved a half-consumed cigar, addressing Susan:

"Any objections to my smoking, ma'am?"

"Not she," replied her husband, "neither in this world nor the next. You go on and talk to her. You understand women. Open fire on 'em!"

"May I say a few words, ma'am?"

"Provided they are few, you may, Mr. Tomlin."

Driven to the wall, she made no effort to conceal her dislike of this big fat man, whom she had ever regarded as an evil influence in her Joe's life. Quinney exclaimed:

"'Ark to Mrs. Don't-care-a-damn!"

Tomlin raised a protesting finger.

"Tut, tut, Joe. You leave this to me."

He continued majestically, picking his words:

"I don't think you can be aware, ma'am, that James Miggott is threatening your husband, and"--he turned to Posy--"your dear father."

Susan snapped out:

"Joe told me as much last night. I know well what James is threatening. He's not the only man of his word in this house. He's threatening to take the girl he loves as she is. He's not thinking of anything else. He's made it plain that he's only to hold up his finger, and Posy'll go to him gladly."

"Just what I told you, Tom," remarked Quinney.

"You're under a misapprehension, ma'am. Miggott is threatening us--me and Joe."

At this Posy became more alert, listening attentively to Tomlin, but keeping her clear eyes upon her sire. Susan betrayed astonishment.

"Threatening you, Mr. Tomlin? Why should he threaten you, and why should you care tuppence whether he threatens you or not?"

Very deprecatingly, Tomlin spread out his large hands, palm uppermost, as if he wished the ladies to infer that he came empty-handed into a fight not of his seeking.

"I repeat, ma'am, he's threatening us. He's talking of trying to ruin us."

"Talkin' through his hat," murmured Quinney.

Susan tossed her head impatiently.

"You'll have to speak more plainly, Mr. Tomlin, if you wish me to understand what you're driving at."

Tomlin, cornered by Susan's direct methods in striking opposition to his own, fetched a compass, and began again more warily:

"Is it possible that you contemplate leaving the most faithful husband in the world, ma'am?"

Quinney chuckled, rubbing his hands.

"That's better. Now, Susie, you listen to Tom, if you won't listen to me."

"I've listened patiently to you, Joe, for just twenty years. It's about time I did a bit of talking, and that you did the listening."

"Ho! Been bottling things up, have you?" She nodded. "Then you uncork yourself, old dear! But, before you begin, I'll try to impress this on your female mind. This dirty dog of a James Miggott is threatening me and Tom. He believes that he can injure our reputations in the trade. See? Tom, here, thinks that he'll do it, if I refuse to surrender. Well, I don't. That's where he and me differ. But, just as sure as the Lord made little apples and small, mean souls, it's the solid truth that this young man is tryin' to blackmail me! Now you have the text, dearie. Get you up and preach a sermon on it. Posy, in her Sunday clothes, will listen, and so will I. But bear in mind that you took me for better or worse."

Tomlin added unctuously:

"And please remember, ma'am, that you have to consider me."

Susan eyed Tomlin with chill indifference. Her voice was almost vitriolic, as she remarked:

"If I'm driven from house and home, Mr. Tomlin, 'tain't likely I shall waste much time considering you!"

"Who's driving you, ma'am, from house and home?"

"My husband is, more shame to him!"

She collected her energies for a supreme effort, turning in her chair to look at the tyrant.

"Blaze away!" said the tyrant.

"Joe"--her voice trembled in spite of a gallant effort to control it--"you are forcing me to do the cruellest thing in all the world--to choose between my own child and you. I ain't got your brains, but I've something much better--a heart. Posy wants me, and you don't. Let me finish. It's bitter aloes to me, but I swallow the gall of it for my dear child's sake. You used to love me!"

"Used?"

"Between you and me, that's over and done with."

She spoke very mournfully, brushing a tear from her cheek.

"No, it ain't, Susie. Seemin'ly, what I've done to show my love for you ain't enough. S'pose you tell me what more I might do?"

She answered swiftly:

"Give your consent to Posy marrying, as I did--marrying the man of her choice. Have you anything against his moral character?"

"He's a wrong 'un; take that from me!"

"Not without proof. What's he done that's wrong? He don't muddle his wits with food and drink. He don't use filthy tobacco. He attends Divine Service."

"Ho! Poor in this world's goods, but a moral millionaire, hey?"

"It's hateful to hear you sneer at him!"

"You ask me to give my daughter to a dog that's trying to bite the hand that fed him?"

"Posy might do worse," said Tomlin hoarsely.

"Now you've torn it!" said Quinney viciously. "I'm alone against the lot of you. Good! I'll down the lot of you, I'll----"

Posy interrupted:

"Father!"

"Well, my girl?"

She spoke incisively, with something of his manner:

"You won't answer one important question. What is James threatening to do to you and Mr. Tomlin?"

Poor Quinney! He had only to speak with entire frankness to win his Susan back. But at what a cost! Could he roll in the dust of a humiliating confession? Unconsciously he clenched his fists, setting his firm jaw at an even more aggressive angle. In desperation he clutched at a straw. If he must be dragged down from his high estate as the honestest dealer in the world, let that iconoclastic deed be done by another hand.

"Look ye here, my girl, suppose you ask James that question."

"I want to ask him," she replied calmly.

"Fine!" muttered Tomlin. "Yes, my dear, you ask him why he dares to threaten your dear father."

"And you," said Posy.

"That's right. And me. More than one good tip he's had from me."

"Tips? Why should you tip him?"

"You can ask him. There's no time to waste."

"No time to waste?"

The situation had become tenser. Quinney perceived with a certain pride that Posy was demonstrating the quality of brains inherited from him.

"Go to him," said Quinney. "He's in his room. We'll wait here."

She obeyed.

*II*

As soon as James saw Posy coming alone to him, he leapt triumphantly to the conclusion that her father had hauled down his flag. With a joyous exclamation he hastened to embrace her, but she turned a cool cheek to ardent lips.

"Father sent me to you, Jim."

"I knew he'd climb down!"

"But he hasn't. Jim, dear, what do you mean by threatening father and--and Mr. Tomlin?"

The eager smile faded out of his face. He remained silent, marshalling his wits.

"Have you received tips from Mr. Tomlin?"

"He's paid me for work done."

"What sort of work?"

"Restoring old bits of stuff. What has that got to do with us?"

She followed her thoughts, not his questions.

"And why is there all this hurry? Mr. Tomlin said just now that there was no time to waste."

"He's right; there isn't!"

"But why?"

Her voice was gently insistent. She laid her hand softly upon the sleeve of his coat, as if entreating him to trust her, as she trusted him.

"It's like this, Posy. I told you last night that I could deal with your father, that the right moment had come to deal with him. Now, give me a free hand!"

"Mr. Tomlin spoke, not very clearly, about your being able to ruin father and him. Father denies that!"

"Does he?"

Posy grew nervous, the colour ebbed from her cheeks; into her eyes flitted a shadow of fear. Her sharp wits were at work adding and subtracting, fitting together this jig-saw puzzle.

At this moment, her memory answered oddly to the strain imposed upon it. In this room, before the _coup de foudre_, her father had spoken roughly to her, ordering her out of it with a peremptoriness apparently quite unjustifiable, because she was on an errand connected with his business. This tiny fact had rankled. James had asked her for a bottle of cleaning fluid.

Suddenly, out of the pigeon-holes of her mind, tumbled the covers of the chairs which James wanted to clean. The very pattern of the exquisite needlework presented itself.

"Oh!" she exclaimed.

"What's the matter, dearest? This excitement has been too much for you. Do let me handle your father. Believe me, I can do it in our joint interest."

She gazed at him queerly, a tiny, vertical line between her dark eyebrows.

"Has father done something dishonest?"

The colour rushed back into her cheeks as she spoke, but her eyes remained upon his. When he made no reply, she continued:

"Are you threatening to expose some fraud, a fraud connected with--chairs?"

"God! You are clever!" said James, unable to hide his admiration, or to believe that she had swooped upon the truth.

She sighed.

"Then it is true."

There was no interrogation in those four words.

"Well, yes; it is true." He hurried on, fearing that she might interrupt him. "I wanted to spare you knowledge of that. Fortune has placed in my hands a weapon. I am using it for both our sakes. Between our two selves, my dearest, I can admit to you that I should not really ruin your father. What an idea!"

"Then you are bluffing?"

"I am. I want you so desperately."

He attempted to kiss her, but she repulsed him gently.

"If mother knew----"

"She need not know. Your father will climb down at the last moment. He knows, and Tomlin knows, that I can ruin both of them."

"It's as bad as that?"

"Yes. He must surrender!"

"But if he shouldn't? Jim, dear, you said last night that you would take me as I am; and I loved you for saying that. Now, you want to bargain for me."

"To bargain for you, darling; not for myself."

She nodded, accepting his explanation, able to put herself in his place. Beholding the situation from his point of view, panoramically, she tried, in turn, to see the same situation from the point of view of her father. She exclaimed softly:

"Gracious!"

The expression upon her face puzzled James. Men, even the cleverest, can follow women's bodies easier than their thoughts.

"Try to be sensible about this," he murmured.

"It's so exciting. Don't you see that this is a test of father, a wonderful test!"

"Of what?"

"Of his love for me, of his love for mother."

"Eh?"

"Don't be dense, Jim! Mother has accused father of not caring much for us; but, if he risks ruin for our sake, he does care."

"Pooh! He's bluffing, too!"

"I am not certain of that. Anyway"--her face cleared; she beamed at him delightfully--"I should like you to make good, Jim, without horrid threats, without bluffing. Take me as I am, if you want me. You can earn a good living anywhere. I'm not afraid of a little poverty with you."

"You don't know what poverty is, Posy. I do. I'm afraid of poverty for the woman I care about."

"Do you mean that you refuse to take me as I am?"

Bathos and pathos are twins. James passed, with an unconsidered bound, from climax to anticlimax. He said irritably:

"Hang it all! I shall have to take your mother, too. Posy, we haven't time to argue this. Hunsaker will be here directly. Luck has thrust into my hands a tremendous lever; and I mean to use it."

"Is that your last word?"

"Yes, it is. I'm fighting for you, fighting to a finish. And ever since the world began, women have had to look on at such a fight----"

"And take the winner?"

She laughed derisively.

"I shall be the winner!"

"Come up and tell father so."

"Right!"

"Mother and I will look on."

*III*

They went upstairs in silence, to find Tomlin reading the paper, and Susan engaged in dusting the china.

"Where's father?" asked Posy.

"Busy with Mabel Dredge. I'll fetch him."

Posy sat down. From her face it was impossible to divine what was passing through her brain. She folded her hands upon her lap and waited.

Quinney appeared, followed by Susan. He glared at James, and then fixed his gaze upon Posy.

"Well, my girl?"

She said demurely:

"It's to be a fight to a finish for me."

"Damn!" said Tomlin.

Susan wandered to the window, staring aimlessly into the square. She heard Tomlin saying hoarsely:

"Joe, you take my advice; let the girl have the man she wants. S'elp me, if one o' my daughters took a shine to him, she should have him! You're fairly downed, old man, and you know it. This Hunsaker will be here before we can turn round!"

"He is here," said Susan, turning from the window.

*CHAPTER XXIII*

*THE RESULT*

*I*

Susan was somewhat astonished at the effect of her announcement upon those present. She added, after a pause:

"A middle-aged gentleman is with him."

"Ho!" ejaculated Quinney. Evidently Hunsaker had brought the expert to Soho Square. He said sharply to James:

"Go downstairs, and bring these gentlemen up here!"

James glanced at Posy, and then at Quinney.

"You mean that, sir?"

"Of course I mean it! Scoot!"

Tomlin's mottled countenance deepened in tint. He rose from his chair and approached Quinney. James moved slowly towards the door, but he heard Tomlin's hoarse whisper:

"Better give in, Joe."

Quinney answered loudly:

"Never!"

"We can't face the music, if he squeals."

"I can." He addressed the company generally, in a fierce voice: "You mark what I say--all of you. I'd sooner be ruined, lock, stock, and barrel, than give my daughter to that man!"

He pointed at James, whose self-possession was beginning to fail him. "What are you waiting for?" he demanded. "Do as I tell you. Ask Mr. Hunsaker and his friend, with my compliments, to come here!"

James vanished silently, as Tomlin muttered:

"I'll retire."

Instantly Quinney interposed his small, sturdy figure between the big dealer and the door.

"No, you don't, Tom Tomlin! Shoulder to shoulder with me, old man, till the last shot is fired!"

"I wish I knew what it is all about," said Susan to Posy. In a louder voice she addressed her husband:

"Maybe Posy and I had better leave you?"

"Please yourselves," said Quinney. His eyes were sparkling, and his short, red hair bristled with excitement and the lust of battle.

"As they are fighting for me," said Posy, "I'll stay."

Susan observed in utter bewilderment:

"I've looked on all my life, and I can do it a little longer."

She turned to Posy, with the intention of asking for some sort of explanation; but Posy had gone up to her father.

"Daddy!"

Quinney replied roughly:

"Too late to say you're sorry now, my girl!"

"But I'm not sorry. I'm ever so glad. Whether you are right or wrong about Jim, it is everything--yes, everything--to me to know that you really meant what you said just now."

She went back to her mother as Hunsaker's genial voice was heard coming up the stairs:

"Yes, sir, a sanctuary; and not a thing in it for sale!"

*II*

The two visitors entered, followed by James. Tomlin gasped when he beheld Hunsaker's companion, a celebrity known to all the great dealers in two hemispheres. He was short, rather stout, and very quietly dressed, with a fine head set upon rounded shoulders. The face was heavy-featured and saturnine, the face of a man who had lived a strenuous life, a fighter and a conqueror. Hunsaker pronounced his name with pride:

"Mr. Quinney, this is Mr. Dupont Jordan."

"Glad to see you, Mr. Jordan," said Quinney. He waved his hand. "My wife and daughter."

The famous collector bowed to the ladies, and nodded to Tomlin, who murmured obsequiously:

"Mr. Jordan has honoured me with his patronage."

Hunsaker's voice rose jovially above the murmurs:

"Mr. Jordan is interested in my chairs. He wants to see 'em. What he doesn't know about Chippendale furniture you could put into a mustard-seed and hear it rattle."

"Dear me!" said Susan. "That's a pity. The chairs are cased, I believe."

"Not all of them," said James. "One chair is still unpacked."

He stared boldly at Quinney, asking for a sign. Quinney rubbed his hands.

"Good," said he. "Go and fetch the chair, James."

"Fetch it here, sir?"

"At once, my lad."

Tomlin began to shake. Of all men in the world, Dupont Jordan was least to be desired at such a moment. Tomlin grew painfully moist and hot. James left the room, slightly slamming the door, a slam that sounded to Tomlin like the crack of doom. Hunsaker, meanwhile, had engaged the ladies in talk. Jordan stood beside Quinney, silent, but looking with interest at the incised lacquer screen. Quinney said to him quietly:

"Is it true, Mr. Jordan, that you bought the Pevensey chairs from Lark and Bundy?"

"Quite true, Mr. Quinney. That is why I wish so particularly to see Mr. Hunsaker's set, which I understand are like mine."

Quinney said in a loud tone: "I'm sorry."

The tone rather than the words challenged attention. Hunsaker stopped talking, staring at Quinney.

"Sorry?" repeated Jordan.

"Sorry, sir, that so busy a man should have come here. The chairs are like the Pevensey chairs, but they are not authentic specimens. I told Mr. Hunsaker that we dealers was done sometimes."

"Often," murmured Tomlin mournfully.

"Yesterday afternoon, Mr. Tomlin and I discovered that these chairs are not what they appear to be." He moved to his desk. "Here is your cheque, Mr. Hunsaker. I return it."

"Suffering Moses!" exclaimed Hunsaker.

"I am sorry," said Quinney, "that Mr. Jordan should be disappointed, but his verdict, no doubt, will coincide with mine and Thomas Tomlin's."

"Finest fakes I ever saw in all my life," murmured Tomlin.

Hunsaker stared at his cheque, and then held out his hand to Quinney.

"By the Lord, sir, I'm proud to know you. You're the straight goods."

"Give us time," said Tomlin, "and we'll find you a genuine set."

The big fellow was almost, but not quite, at his ease. He admitted to himself that his former pupil had risen to heights above his master. Nevertheless, the victory was not yet assured. He continued grandiloquently:

"We dealers are prepared to pay for our mistakes, but we don't want 'em made public."

Hunsaker exclaimed with enthusiasm:

"You can bet your boots, Mr. Tomlin, that this mistake won't be made public by me."

"Nor by me," said Jordan. His heavy face had brightened, his keen glance rested pleasantly upon Quinney. He had been told that this odd little man never sold fakes except as such, and here was confirmation strong of the astounding statement. Tomlin he knew to be a plausible rogue, who was honest only in his dealings with men like himself, recognized experts. Lark and Bundy he knew also as gentlemen of the same kidney. Quinney soared above his experience of dealers--a unique specimen.

These thoughts were diverted by the entrance of James, carrying the chair. He set it down with a flourish. He believed that Quinney had such faith in his powers as a faker of Chippendale furniture that he dared to invite the inspection of an expert. In a sense it was a proud moment for him, when he heard Quinney say:

"Now, Mr. Jordan, will you kindly pass judgment on this chair?"

Jordan adjusted his pince-nez, and bent over it. Quinney glanced at James.

"Stay you here, my lad."

James smiled triumphantly, interpreting these words to mean surrender. He collapsed like a pricked bladder, when he heard Quinney say to Jordan:

"Wonderful bit of fake work, Mr. Jordan, isn't it?"

"Half-and-half, I call it," observed Tomlin, noting the effect on James.

"Yes," said Jordan slowly. "This leg is genuine, I should say, and that isn't. Under a strong glass one would perceive the difference."

He looked up to behold James quite unable to control his emotions. The lever in which he had trusted was elevating Posy's father to sublime heights. By a stroke of genius Quinney had challenged the attention of a millionaire collector, who might entrust so honest a man with commissions involving tens of thousands of pounds. His bluff had been called in Posy's presence, Posy who was staring at her father with wonder in her eyes. For one moment he was tempted to throw prudence to the winds, and proclaim the fraud. But--would he be believed now?

"Is this young man ill?" asked Jordan.

"Oh no," said Quinney. "He's upset, that's what he is, and no wonder! I'll say this for him, he's a clever lad; and he always had his doubts about them chairs, didn't you, James?"

"Yes," replied the unhappy James, "but----"

"That'll do, my boy. Take away that chair. I feel ill when I look at it. Case it up. We'll send the lot back to Ireland this afternoon."

James picked up the chair and retreated in disorder, outplayed at all points.

"The needlework is beautiful," said Jordan.

"Nothing more to be said," remarked Quinney genially.

He chuckled, rubbing his hands together, glancing slyly at Posy and Susan. Jordan was tremendously impressed. Here was a little man, obviously without much education, who had achieved a distinctive position as a dealer in the world's greatest mart. And he was plucky enough to face a heavy monetary loss and a still heavier blow to his _amour propre_ as a connoisseur with--chucklings. Jordan loved a good loser.

Hunsaker put into vivid words the thoughts passing through Jordan's mind:

"Nothing more to be said!" he repeated. "I've something to say, and I want to get it off my chest quick. You're a dead square man, Mr. Quinney, and, by thunder, I'll make it my business that you don't lose by this. My friends are going to hear of you, sir. And some of 'em will weigh in downstairs with cheques as big as this." He waved the slip of paper excitedly. "I ain't sure that I ought to take this. I bought the chairs after careful examination. I wanted to buy them, and you were not over keen about selling. I remember that."

"I couldn't let you have those chairs, Mr. Hunsaker. Tear up that cheque!"

"I'm hanged if I will! I want to take back to Hunsaker a souvenir of a great morning. Can't you let me have something else for this?"

Then Quinney added the last touch.

"Yes, by Gum! I can. And I'll leave it to Mr. Jordan. You can have anything in this room you fancy at a price to be set on it by him."

Hunsaker threw back his broad shoulders and laughed. There was a whiff of the New Mexico plains in his general air, a breezy freshness captivating to see. At that moment Quinney regretted nothing. He beheld an honest man, and was warmed to the core.

"Anything?" repeated Hunsaker. He glanced about him, and for one moment his eyes rested upon Posy.

"Anything," Quinney reaffirmed.

"I'll remember that, sir. Now, Mr. Jordan, do me the favour to select some object in this sanctuary for which you would pay eleven hundred pounds or more."

"You insist?"

"I shall be under the greatest obligations to you and Mr. Quinney."

Jordan walked to the cabinet. At his request Quinney opened it, displaying the beautiful interior.

"I would gladly give eleven hundred pounds for this," he said quietly.

"Will you accept that, Mr. Quinney?"

Quinney chuckled, looking at Posy.

"Um! There are memories connected with that cabinet, Mr. Hunsaker, which make me willing to part with it. It's yours."

"It's mine."

Solemnly he handed the cheque back to Quinney, who as solemnly received it, laying it upon his desk. Jordan held out his hand.

"Good-day, Mr. Quinney. I hope to become one of your customers, and to send you some of my friends."

Hunsaker turned to take leave of the ladies.

"I'm fixing up that dinner and play, Miss Posy, so it won't be good-bye. _Au revoir_?"

"_Au revoir_," said Posy.

*III*

Quinney accompanied them downstairs. When he returned to the sanctuary, Tomlin was the first to greet him.

"Joe," he said, "I've always wondered how a man without education could win your position in the trade. Now I know."

"Honesty pays, Tom, sometimes. Which reminds me of that cheque I gave you. Hand it over, old man!"

Tomlin did so reluctantly.

"Am I entitled to a com. on the sale of that lac cabinet?"

"As between man and man you are not, but when it comes to furnishin' the great and growin' town of Hunsaker with fancy bits, why you shan't be left out in the cold."

"So long," said Tomlin. He saluted the ladies politely, pausing at the door to address Susan:

"You hang on to Joe, ma'am. He'll make you Lady Quinney yet."

Tomlin had heard of the prediction made long ago by the Queen of the Gipsies.

"Send up James Miggott," said Quinney.

He was left alone with Susan and Posy. The girl broke the silence:

"Father!"

"Wait! James is coming."

The hardness had gone from his voice. Susan, far too dazed to realize what had taken place, but knowing vaguely that her husband seemed to have triumphed greatly, exclaimed joyously:

"Ah, Joe, you're going to forgive them."

"Forgive--him? I ain't settled with James yet."

"He was only bluffing," faltered Posy. "He told me so."

"Did he?" said her father.

James entered. He had recovered his self-possession, and something of his native impudence. Quinney, it was true, had outwitted him, but the great fact remained--Posy loved him.

"Stand you there, my lad!"

James remained near the door, thinking of Posy's three thousand pounds, which, unhappily, could not be touched till she was twenty-one. Men have, however, waited longer for less.

"So you was bluffing--hey?"

"Posy knew that I wouldn't injure you, sir."

"And you thought I was bluffing, but I wasn't. I'd sooner go to gaol--yes, I would--than see you married to my daughter. And why? Because you're after things."

"I want Posy."

"I see no margin of profit for Posy if you want her, and nothing else."

"Posy wants me."

"No, you're wrong, my lad. Posy wants the man she thinks you to be, not the man you are."

He approached Posy, looking her over, appraising her points.

"You ain't a judge of quality yet," he said to her. "This young feller is a fake. Don't shake your pretty head! He's not good enough for you, and that's why I forbid the banns. Your pore mother thinks it's a matter of pounds, shillings, and pence with me. Well, I know the value of money, because I've made it. Money can buy nearly everything and everybody. Money can buy you, Posy."

"It can't."

"It can buy you from him."

He turned sharply, staring contemptuously at James, appraising him also as the young man stood before him, erect and defiant.

"James Miggott----"

"Sir?"

"You have stolen something which is mine. I'll buy it back at my own price."

"You can't buy Posy from me?"

"Have you settled yet with Mabel Dredge?"

"What do you mean, sir?"

His voice remained impudently firm, but into his eyes crept a furtive expression.

"It seems, my lad, that Mabel Dredge wants you, and you wanted her before Posy came back from school. Took all she had to give, too."

"Oh!" exclaimed Posy.

Quinney continued scathingly: "You were mean enough to break with her, when my girl appeared, but she didn't break with you. As a moral millionaire, James Miggott, you're--bust!"

Susan saw James's face, evidence damning to any woman of intuitions. She cried aloud dolorously:

"He stole the roses from her pore cheeks! Oh, the everlasting wickedness of some men!"

Quinney smiled derisively.

"And, oh! the everlasting foolishness of some women! Mabel Dredge still wants him."

James, floundering in quicksands, attempted to lie his way out of them.

"It isn't true."

"Pah!" said Quinney. "You're nicely decorated, and there's a smooth buttery glaze to you, but your paste is rotten! Now, let's get to business. Posy and her mother think that I value things more than persons. Here"--he snatched up Hunsaker's cheque--"is a _thing_ worth eleven hundred pounds. I offer you this, James Miggott, and with it Mabel Dredge, who prefers flashy stuff. You must choose, and choose quick, between Mabel, _plus_ this cheque, and Posy in her go-to-meetin' clothes, _plus_ her mother, who's right, by Gum, not to trust her alone with you."

Personality can be irresistible. This little man, with all his disabilities, held these three persons spellbound under the magic of his voice and manner. Posy's bosom was heaving with emotion; Susan stared, open-eyed and open-mouthed, at the lover of Laburnum Row, her Joe, miraculously restored to her. James glared at his master, recognizing him as such, defiant still, but stricken dumb. Quinney chuckled.

"The cheque won't be on offer long, my lad. Better take it! Better take it! It's--endorsed."

James hesitated, casting a furtive glance at Posy. She met his eyes bravely; and he knew that she saw him unmistakably as he was. Quinney flipped the cheque with his finger.

"Better take it--quick!"

James took it, and fled.

*IV*

Posy fell weeping into a chair. It is significant, perhaps, that Susan for the moment disregarded her daughter. Joe seemed to fill her eyes and the room. She fluttered towards him, stretching out her hands, calling him by name.

"You are--wonderful!"

The old phrase fell inevitably from her lips. He was acclaimed as the senior partner, rehabilitated. She did not entreat forgiveness, because she divined proudly that he would not wish his wife to humble herself.

Quinney kissed her joyously.

But Posy's bitter sobbing spoilt the sweetness of that kiss. Husband and wife remembered guiltily their child.

"Come you here, Posy," said Quinney. "Come to your old dad, my pretty!"

She obeyed him, hiding her head upon his shoulder, feeling the pressure of his arms, and then hearing his voice:

"I've paid more for you, Posy, than any thing I've got. And I shall hold tight on to you till Mr. Right comes along. You'll know him when you see him, missy, because of this nasty little experience with Mr. Wrong."

He stroked her hair, caressed her cheek, touching her lovingly with the tips of his fingers. Posy looked up.

"You do love me, don't you?"

"By God," he answered, "I do."

GARDEN CITY PRESS LTD., LETCHWORTH, ENGLAND.

* * * * * * * *

*MURRAY'S 1/- NOVELS.*

LADDIE - - - By Gene Stratton-Porter MR. WYCHERLY'S WARDS - - - L. Allen Harker TOWER OF IVORY - - - Gertrude Atherton LOOT - - - Horace A. Vachell NOTWITHSTANDING - - - Mary Cholmondeley QUINNEYS' - - - Horace A. Vachell FRECKLES - - - Gene Stratton-Porter SEPTIMUS - - - William J. Locke FLEMINGTON - - - Violet Jacob AN IMPENDING SWORD - - - Horace A. Vachell THE COMPLEAT BACHELOR - - - Oliver Onions THE FLORENTINE FRAME - - - Elizabeth Robins MISS ESPERANCE & MR. WYCHERLY - - - L. Allen Harker