"Ah, that's the bowl," said William eagerly. "A nice piece, sir, isn't it?"
"I may be able to tell you more about that," the cautious answer, "when I know what you gave for it."
William had given thirty shillings.
S. Gedge Antiques tapped the bowl appraisingly. "Thirty shillings! But that's money."
"I'm sure it's a good piece, sir."
"Well, you may be right," said S. Gedge grudgingly. "Lowestoft is fetching fair prices just now. What's that under your arm?"
"It's something I've bought for myself, sir."
"Out of the money I gave you?" said the old man as keen as a goshawk.
"No, sir," said William with great simplicity. "Your money was all in the packing case. I'll give you an account of every penny."
"Well, what's the thing you've bought for yourself," said the master sternly.
"It's a small picture I happened to come across in an old shop at Crowdham Market."
"Picture, eh?" S. Gedge Antiques dubiously scratched a scrub of whisker with the nail of his fore-*finger. "Don't fancy pictures myself. Chancey things are pictures. Never brought me much luck. However, I'll have a look at it. Take off the paper."
William took off the paper and handed to his master the article it had contained. With a frown of petulant disgust the old man held an ancient and dilapidated daub up to the light. So black it was with grime and age that to his failing eyes not so much as a hint of the subject was visible.
"Nothing to write home about anyhow," was the
