William needed, among other things, a new pair of boots; he was short of the materials of his craft, and the sum of fifteen shillings meant a great deal to him at any time, facts with which his employer was well acquainted. The temptation was great. While the offer was under consideration, June held her breath. She had a frantic desire to signal across the table to William not to part with his treasure. Much to her relief, however, the young man resisted the lure. His master told him roundly that only a fool would refuse such an offer. William allowed that it was princely, but he had quite an affection for the picture now, besides, much had to be done to get it really clean.
At present, moreover, he had not even begun to look for the signature.
"Signature!" S. Gedge Antiques took up the word sarcastically. And there were times, as June knew already, when the old man could be terribly sarcastic. "You'll be looking, I suppose, for the signature of Hobbema. Seems to me, boy, you're cracked on that subject."
"I don't think, sir," said William, in his gentle voice, "that this picture is a Hobbema."
"Don't you indeed?" To conceal a rising impatience Uncle Si made a face at his niece. "You're cracked, my boy." He gave his own forehead a symbolical tap. "Why waste your time looking for a signature to a thing you bought for five shillings at an old serendipity shop at Crowdham Market! You'd far better turn over a snug little profit of two hundred per cent and forget all about it."
The next day, however, when William set out for Tunbridge Wells, he was still the owner of the picture.
