"But I understood you to say, sir, that the picture has no market value without a signature."
"No more it has, you fool. But there may be those who think it's a Hobbema. And if there are, it is up to us to help them to keep on thinking."
June hung breathlessly on every word that passed. She watched William shake his head in slow and grave perplexity.
"But anybody can see that it isn't a Hobbema."
"Anybody can't," said the old man. "Mr. Thornton can't for one, and he's a pretty good judge, as a rule. Mr. Finch is more doubtful, but even he wouldn't like to swear to it."
William shook his head.
"Boy, you are a fool. You are getting too clever; you are getting above your trade. Go at once and take out that signature, whatever it may be, provided it isn't Hobbema's, and I'll give you two pounds for the thing as it stands. And let me tell you two pounds is money."
William shook his head a little more decisively.
"I'd have to paint out the trees," he said, "and the water, and that cloud, and that gleam of sunlight before I could begin to touch the signature."
"What do you mean?"
"It's a Van Roon," said William, in a voice so gentle that he might have been speaking to himself.
S. Gedge Antiques laid his knife on his plate with a clatter. He gave an excited snort. "Van Fiddlestick!"
William's smile grew so intense that June could hardly bear to look at him.
"Every inch of it," said William, "and there are not so many, is Van Roon."
