War-time Silhouettes Part 6

Peter made a slight waving motion with his hand, dismissing the subject, and began talking of other things.

A quarter of an hour later he rose to go. He said good-bye, and was just leaving the room when Ringsmith called him back.

"About those pictures--I should like to oblige you, Peter."

"Yes?"

"Where can they be seen?"

Peter Knott took a half-sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Ringsmith without comment. Ringsmith glanced at it and threw it on the table.

"All right," he said, "leave it to me; I'll see what can be done, but these aren't times to buy, you know."

"So you said," Peter replied, and went gently out of the room.

The next morning Ringsmith was early at his office. After looking over his letters he sent for MacTavish. The shrewd Scotsman was said to be the cleverest picture-buyer in the country. He came in, a tall, thin man, clean-shaven, with wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Ringsmith doesn't stand on terms of ceremony with his employees: he comes to the point at once.

"D'you remember that Corot we sold to Peter Whelan of Philadelphia? When was it--two or three years ago?"

"Certainly I do, Mr. Ringsmith."

"Can you say off-hand what we made on that deal?"

"No," replied MacTavish cautiously, "but I do remember what we gave for it, and what we sold it for. There were a lot of expenses on that deal."

There was a cunning look in MacTavish's eyes as he added the last words.

"Um, yes--what were the figures?"

"We gave 4,000, but it included those ormulu vases which Joyce sold for us at Christie's. You remember we were wrong about those, and it took some of the gilt off."

Ringsmith's heavy eyebrows met in a scowl.

"Well?" he said irritably.

"Whelan gave 7,500. He's a hard nut, you know."

"That'll do now, MacTavish. I want you to go and call at this place, have a look at the pictures, and report."

Mr. MacTavish lost no time in calling at Mrs. Stillwell's house. She was out, but had left a note for the gentleman from Mr. Ringsmith's, asking him to look at the pictures, and expressing her regret that she could not show them to him herself. She was quite unable, she said, to decide upon a price, which she left entirely to Mr. Ringsmith.

A few days later Mrs. Stillwell was writing to her boy at the Front when Mr. MacTavish was announced. She is a slight, refined, gentle-looking little lady, and rose from her chair with some embarra.s.sment. She had never had anything to do with gentlemen like Mr. MacTavish before, and hardly knew whether she ought to shake hands with him or not; but she did so with a gracious and slightly deprecating air. She felt she was under an obligation to him for giving him so much trouble, and she disliked very much being compelled to talk to him about selling her pictures.

"Won't you have a cup of tea, Mr. MacTavish?" she asked, not knowing exactly what to say.

The tall Scotsman declined politely, and came straight to business.

"I've talked the matter over with Mr. Ringsmith, Mrs. Stillwell, and if you're agreeable I am prepared to buy the three pictures for the firm."

Mrs. Stillwell half-rose from her chair.

"Oh, thank you very much, thank you very much!" she said hastily.

"Purely a matter of business, madam. You may not be aware that in these times buying pictures is a somewhat dangerous operation."

"Oh, indeed! I didn't know."

Mrs. Stillwell blanched at the word "dangerous."

"I mean, we may be compelled to keep them for a considerable time. It's not easy to find purchasers."

"No, I suppose not, Mr. MacTavish."

"You are still unable to fix a price, Mrs. Stillwell?"

"I really--I--no, I don't think so. I have no idea what the value of the pictures is."

"Pictures have no value, madam; they are worth just what they can be sold for, neither more nor less."

"Oh, indeed! Yes."

"Mr. Ringsmith has decided to give you what I think may be considered in the circ.u.mstances a very handsome price for the three pictures. He has told me that I may offer you 5,000."

"Oh, I'm sure that's very kind indeed of Mr. Ringsmith." Mrs. Stillwell was quite astonished; she had not expected nearly so much.

MacTavish lost no time; he handed her a cheque, and in a few moments took his departure.

Some weeks pa.s.sed. Ringsmith again occupied the deep leather chair, and Peter Knott was announced.

"Good afternoon, Stephen; thought I'd look in for a moment. No, thanks."

This in answer to Ringsmith's offer of tea.

"Mrs. Stillwell told me about the deal, Stephen."

"Well, were you satisfied?"

Peter Knott didn't answer the question.

"By the way," he remarked softly, "her boy's just come back. Got shot through one of his lungs. Extraordinary thing--miracle almost. He's made a marvellous recovery, thanks entirely to a motor ambulance being handy.

They got him to the base hospital, and now he's almost convalescent.

Aren't you glad you subscribed, Stephen?"

"Of course I'm glad. I don't give money unless I want to."

"You are very good about it, Stephen--very. I was wondering whether"--Peter Knott looked up at Ringsmith--"you'd feel like giving me another little cheque. You know these ambulances break down dreadfully fast. Fresh ones are always wanted, and with the new campaign--"