The Streets of Ascalon Part 39

"They look all right."

"Really?"

"Certainly. They seem to be genuine enough as far as I can see."

"But are they otherwise any good?"

"I think so. I'll go over each canvas very carefully and give you my opinion for what it's worth. But, for Heaven's sake, Dankmere, where are we going to put all these canvases?"

"I suppose," said the Earl gloomily, "I'll be obliged to store what you haven't room for. And as I gradually grow poorer and poorer the day will arrive when I can't pay storage; and they'll sell 'em under my nose at auction, Quarren. And first I know the papers will blossom out with: 'A Wonderful Rembrandt discovered in a junk-shop! Ancient picture bought for five dollars and p.r.o.nounced a gem by experts! Lucky purchaser refuses a hundred thousand dollars cash!'"

Quarren laughed and turned away into the house; and Dankmere followed, gloomily predicting his own approaching financial annihilation.

From his office Quarren telephoned a picture dealer to send men with heavy wire, hooks, ladders and other paraphernalia; then he and Dankmere made their toilets, resumed their coats, and returned to the sunny office to await events.

After a few moments the Earl said abruptly:

"Would you care to go into this venture with me, Quarren?"

"I?" said Quarren, surprised.

"Yes. Will you?"

"Why, I have my own business, Dankmere----"

"Is it enough to keep you busy?"

"No--not yet--but I----"

"Then, like a good fellow, help me sell these d.a.m.ned pictures. I haven't any money to offer you, Quarren, but if you'll be willing to hang the pictures around your office here and in the back parlour and the extension, and if you'll talk the merry talk to the lunatics who may come in to look at 'em and tell 'em what the bally pictures are and fix the proper prices--why--why, I'll make any arrangement with you that you please. Say a half interest, now. Would that be fair?"

"Fair? Of course! It's far too liberal an offer--but I----"

"It's worth that to me, Quarren--if you can see your way to helping me out----"

"But my help isn't worth half what these pictures might very easily bring--even at public auction----"

"Why not? I'd have to pay an auctioneer, an expert to appraise them--an art dealer to hang them in his gallery for a couple of weeks--either that or rent a place by the year. The only way I can recompense you for your wall s.p.a.ce, for talking art talk to visitors, for fixing prices, is to offer you half of what we make. Why not? You pay a pretty stiff rent here, don't you? You also pay a servant. You pay for heat and light, don't you? So if you'll turn this floor into a combination gallery of sorts--art and real estate, you see--we'll go into business, egad! What?

The Dankmere galleries! What? By gad I'll have a sign made to hang out there beside your shingle--only I'm afraid you'll have to pay for it, Quarren, and recompense yourself after we sell the first picture."

"But, Dankmere," he protested, very much amused, "I don't want to become a picture dealer."

"What's the harm? Take a shot at it, old chap! A young man can't collect too many kinds of experience. Take me for example!--I've sold dogs and hunters on commission, gone shares in about every rotten scheme anybody ever suggested to me, financed a show, and acted in it--as you know--and, by gad!--here I am now a dealer in old masters! Be a good fellow and come in with me. What?"

"I don't really know enough about antique pictures to----"

"What's the odds! Neither do I! My dear sir, we must lie like gentlemen for the honour of the Dankmere gallery! What? Along comes a chap walking slowly and painfully for the weight of the money in his pockets--'Ho!'

says he--'a genuine Van Dyck!' 'Certainly,' you say, very coldly. And, 'How much?' says he, shivering for fear he mayn't get it. 'Three hundred thousand dollars,' you say, trying not to yawn in his face----"

Quarren could no longer control his laughter: Dankmere blinked at him amiably.

"We'll hang them anyhow, Dankmere," he said. "As long as there is so little business in the office I don't mind looking after your pictures for you----"

"Yours, too," urged the Earl.

"No; I can't accept anything----"

"Then it's all off!" exclaimed Dankmere, turning a bright red. "I'm blessed if I'll accept charity!--even if I am hunting heiresses. I'll marry money if I can, but I'm d.a.m.ned if I hold out a tin cup for coppers!"

"If you feel that way," began Quarren, very much embarra.s.sed, "I'll do whatever would make you feel comfortable----"

"Half interest or it's all off! A Dankmere means what he says--now and then."

"One-third interest, then----"

"A half!--by gad! There's a good fellow!"

"No; one-third is all I'll accept."

"Oh, very well. It may amount to ten dollars--it may amount to ten thousand--and ten times that, perhaps. What?"

"Perhaps," said Quarren, smiling. "And, if you're going out, Dankmere, perhaps you had better order a sign painted--anything you like, of course. Because I'm afraid I couldn't leave these pictures here indefinitely and we might as well make plans to get rid of some of them as soon as possible."

"Right-o! I'm off to find a painter. Leave it to me, Quarren. And when the picture-hangers come, have them hung in a poor light--I mean the pictures--G.o.d knows they need it--the dimmer the light the better. What?

Take care of yourself, old chap. There's money in sight, believe me!"

And the lively little Earl trotted out, swinging his stick and setting his straw hat at an angle slightly rakish.

No business came to the office that sunny afternoon; neither did the picture-hangers. And Quarren, uneasy, and not caring to leave Dankmere's ancestral collection of pictures in the back yard all night lest the cats and a possible shower knock a little superfluous antiquity into them, had just started to go out and hire somebody to help him carry the canvases into the bas.e.m.e.nt, when the office door opened in his very face and Molly Wycherly came in, breezily.

"Why, Molly!" he exclaimed, surprised; "this is exceedingly nice of you----"

"Oh, Ricky, I'm glad to see you! But I don't want to buy a house or sell one or anything. I'm very unhappy--and I'm glad to see you----"

She pressed his hand with both her gloved ones; he closed the door and returned to the office; and she seated herself on top of his desk.

"You dear boy," she said; "you are thin and white and you don't look very happy either. Are you?"

"Why, of course I'm happy----"

"I don't believe it! Anyway, I was pa.s.sing, and I saw your shingle swinging, and I made the chauffeur stop on the impulse of the moment....

How are you, Ricky dear?"

"First rate. You are even unusually pretty, Molly."

"I don't feel so. Strelsa and I came into town for the afternoon--on the most horrid kind of business, Ricky."

"I'm sorry----"