A Drake by George! Part 27

"That was just his ornamental way of telling you he's a hustler. He travelled by railway, and third cla.s.s all the way. Jenkins is an awful liar; but he's honest. I want to catch the up train, due in about twenty minutes, so we had better get to business. If you are ready to hand over the pieces, I am prepared to give you my cheque for a thousand marked accepted by the bank."

"Jenkins said they were really worth more than that."

"Though he wouldn't give it," laughed Crampy. "I'll just take another look at 'em to make sure."

"It doesn't matter," George protested.

However, Crampy insisted in a courteous fas.h.i.+on: so they walked to the far end of the platform, where George unpacked one of the vases, and the dealer, having put on his gla.s.ses, examined it shrewdly until the owner began to suffer from the silence.

"Do you know, Mr. Drake, I'm not sure--upon my soul I can't say for certain whether the things are genuine or not."

"Don't tell me they are forgeries," said George weakly.

"They are marvellously well done. Still, I've got a horrible idea in my head there is something wrong with them."

"Jenkins told you?" cried George involuntarily.

"So he said they were fakes!"

"He didn't go as far as that, but he thought there might be some doubt about them," George admitted.

"It looks bad--Jenkins is an uncommon smart amateur. Still, Mr. Drake, I'm a man of my word, and I'm going to make you an extremely liberal offer. I'll buy the vases for the price agreed upon. If they should turn out to be genuine, I can make a fair profit. If they must be condemned as forgeries, I may discover somebody with plenty of money but not enough brains to put unpleasant questions. Or, if you prefer it, I will sell the vases for you on commission. But, in that case, you stand to lose. It's a gamble so far as I'm concerned."

"That's a luxury I can't afford," George muttered.

"Exactly! Here's my cheque! I'm not a philanthropist; I'm willing to do any man a good turn, but I'm far more anxious to do a bit of good for myself. I may lose, but it's just as likely I shall clear a profit.

These vases can be pa.s.sed off, though you couldn't do it--but, mind you, I don't say even now they are not genuine."

With a vast sense of relief George accepted the cheque, and gave up possession of the Chinese vases.

CHAPTER XIII

WASPS AND OTHER WORRIES

"Have you any idea what we are doing here?" Miss Yard inquired one morning, while Nellie was a.s.sisting her to dress.

"We came to live with your sister," replied the girl.

"I suppose there's some truth in that. But what's the good of staying now Maria has gone to the seaside? I want to go home, and see my friends again," declared Miss Yard, declining the next garment until she should receive a satisfactory answer.

"This is your home," said Nellie.

"Then why don't we have tea parties, and why don't we meet every week to knit chest protectors for the people who eat one another?"

"Because we no longer live in a town full of old ladies with nothing to do."

"There was an old clergyman who used to make me s.h.i.+ver with his dreadful stories," added Miss Yard eagerly.

"Not exactly. While the rest of you knitted, one of the ladies used to read aloud from a book, written by a missionary who had spent thirty years upon an island in the Pacific; and he did mention that, when he first went there, the people were not vegetarians."

"And we sent him a lot of m.u.f.flers and mittens," cried Miss Yard.

"Yes, and he wrote back to say wool was much too warm for people who wore nothing at all."

"That's what made me s.h.i.+ver," said Miss Yard triumphantly. "It wasn't so much what they ate, as their walking about without clothes. They used to go to church with nothing on. It must have been dreadful for the poor clergyman. No wonder his health broke down. We must go back," said Miss Yard decidedly. "I can't think what made me so silly as to come here. Do you remember the lady who lived in a dandelion?"

"Now you really have puzzled me," laughed Nellie.

"A little yellow dandelion on a hill. There were no stairs to go up, but I didn't like it much in summer."

"I've got it! You mean the bungalow that belonged to Miss Winter. You didn't like her."

"She used to kiss the clergy," said Miss Yard sadly.

"My dear Miss Sophy you must not libel people. She told you once the only men she ever had kissed were clergymen; one was her father, and the other her uncle. What makes you remember all this?"

"Percy has written to me, and says he's going to be a missionary."

"Let me see the letter."

"It's on my table. I'm sure Percy will make a good missionary, for when he wants money, he's not ashamed to ask for it."

"This is an appeal from the Society for Supplying Paper-patterns of the Latest Fas.h.i.+ons to the Ladies of the Solomon Islands."

"That's where Percy is going. I do hope they will dress themselves properly for his sake."

"Oh, here it is!" cried Nellie, discovering a letter on the carpet. "So Mr. Taverner is coming here next week."

"And he's going to bring me some tomatoes."

"He's going to bring his fiancee," said Nellie.

"Now I've quite forgotten what that is."

"The young lady he's going to marry."

"That's what I mean. I get so confused between tomatoes and mortgages."

"He has just come into some money most unexpectedly," Nellie read. "He arrived at the conclusion long ago that the climate of England is quite unsuitable for the cultivation of tomatoes; and as he is anxious to exploit the capabilities of his new variety, he is going to settle, after his marriage, in Tasmania, which he believes is an island with a future. He is coming to Highfield to bid his dear good aunt a long farewell. Whatever gave you the idea he was going to be a missionary?"

"Doesn't he say so?" asked Miss Yard.

"No, he is going to Tasmania to grow tomatoes."