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millionaires business, instead of learning art from 'em?

''Be patient, says Andy, kindly. 'Maybe we will see a rift in the smoke ere long.

'All the next morning Andy was out. I didn't see him until about noon. He came to the hotel and called me into his room across the hall. He pulled a roundish bundle about as big as a goose egg out of his pocket and unwrapped it. It was an ivory carving just as he had described the millionaire's to me.

''I went in an old second hand store and pawnshop a while ago, says Andy, 'and I see this half hidden under a lot of old daggers and truck. The pawnbroker said he'd had it several years and thinks it was soaked by some Arabs or Turks or some foreign dubs that used to live down by the river.

''I offered him $2 for it, and I must have looked like I wanted it, for he said it would be taking the pumpernickel out of his children's mouths to hold any conversation that did not lead up to a price of $35. I finally got it for $25.

''Jeff, goes on Andy, 'this is the exact counterpart of Scudder's carving. It's absolutely a dead ringer for it. He'll pay $2,000 for it as quick as he'd tuck a napkin under his chin. And why shouldn't it be the genuine other one, anyhow, that the old gypsy whittled out?

''Why not, indeed? says I. 'And how shall we go about compelling him to make a voluntary purchase of it?

'Andy had his plan all ready, and I'll tell you how we carried it out.

'I got a pair of blue spectacles, put on my black frock coat, rumpled my hair up and became Prof. Pickleman. I went to another hotel, registered, and sent a telegram to Scudder to come to see me at once on important art business. The elevator dumped him on me in less than an hour. He was a foggy man with a clarion voice, smelling of Connecticut wrappers and naphtha.

''Hello, Profess! he shouts. 'How's your conduct?

'I rumpled my hair some more and gave him a blue glass stare.

''Sir, says I, 'are you Cornelius T. Scudder? Of Pittsburg, Pennsylvania?

''I am, says he. 'Come out and have a drink.

''I've neither the time nor the desire, says I, 'for such harmful and deleterious amusements. I have come from New York, says I, 'on a matter of busi—on a matter of art.

''I learned there that you are the owner of an Egyptian ivory carving of the time of Rameses II., representing the head of Queen Isis in a lotus flower. There were only two of such carvings made. One has been lost for many years. I recently discovered and purchased the other in a pawn—in an obscure museum in Vienna. I wish to purchase yours. Name your price.

''Well, the great ice jams, Profess! says Scudder. 'Have you found the other one? Me sell? No. I don't guess Cornelius Scudder needs to sell anything that he wants to keep. Have you got the carving with you, Profess?

'I shows it to Scudder. He examines it careful all over.

''It's the article, says he. 'It's a duplicate of mine, every line and curve of it. Tell you what I'll do, he says. 'I won't sell, but I'll buy. Give you $2,500 for yours.

''Since you won't sell, I will, says I. 'Large bills, please. I'm a man of few words. I must return to New York to-night. I lecture to-morrow at the aquarium.

'Scudder sends a check down and the hotel cashes it. He goes off with his piece of antiquity and I hurry back to Andy's hotel, according to arrangement.

'Andy is walking up and down the room looking at his watch.

''Well? he says.

''Twenty-five hundred, says I. 'Cash.

''We've got just eleven minutes, says Andy, 'to catch the B. & O. westbound. Grab your baggage.

''What's the hurry, says I. 'It was a square deal. And even if it was only an imitation of the original carving it'll take him some time to find it out. He seemed to be sure it was the genuine article.

''It was, says Andy. 'It was his own. When I was looking at his curios yesterday he stepped out of the room for a moment and I pocketed it. Now, will you pick up your suit case and hurry?

''Then, says I, 'why was that story about finding another one in the pawn—

''Oh, says Andy, 'out of respect for that conscience of yours. Come on. '

Вы читаете Conscience in Art
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