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Peter Knott took a half-sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Ringsmith without comment. Ringsmith glanced at it and threw it on the table. "All right," he said, "leave it to me; I'll see what can be done, but these aren't times to buy, you know." "So you said," Peter replied, and went gently out of the room. The next morning Ringsmith was early at his office.
I was best man to Tom when he married her. Lord! What a long time ago!" Ringsmith glanced towards Peter; he said nothing, and there was a moment's silence before the latter continued "Tom didn't leave anything except the property, which goes to the boy; he's at the Front. There are the two girls to provide for. I advised her to sell the pictures long ago, but she couldn't bear to part with them.
Ringsmith scowled at Peter, who made no attempt at replying. "By the way, Ringsmith, did you know Whelan is over here? I met him quite by chance yesterday. Seems he's come over on a large Government contract for shells. He asked after you. Told me about a Corot you sold him some years ago. He seemed to think he'd paid a big price." "Well, he didn't." The tone of Ringsmith's reply was irritable.
Peter Knott stopped putting on his gloves and looked at Ringsmith inquiringly. "Not a big price? He told me L7,500." "Oh, he told you that, did he? Have you any idea what kind of expenses there are in a transaction of that kind?" "Not the slightest, Stephen." "You don't seem to realize that there are not many people who have the antipathy to being mixed up in art deals that you have." "Ah!"
After looking over his letters he sent for MacTavish. The shrewd Scotsman was said to be the cleverest picture-buyer in the country. He came in, a tall, thin man, clean-shaven, with wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Ringsmith doesn't stand on terms of ceremony with his employees: he comes to the point at once. "D'you remember that Corot we sold to Peter Whelan of Philadelphia?
Stephen Ringsmith in his way is a public man, and such he likes to consider himself. He is an art dealer in a very big way, and he is also a pillar of one of the political parties. He could have a baronetcy for the asking, but he has no children and he prefers to be a power behind the throne rather than a lackey in front of it. Ringsmith is what is called a strong man.
Anyhow he owes his recognition entirely to you. I introduced him to Ringsmith entirely on your recommendation two years ago. He's sold a lot of pictures during that time. When did you see him last, Saunderson?" David stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Let me see some time before the War it must have been more than a year ago." "Not very grateful," Peter could not help rapping out.
She felt she was under an obligation to him for giving him so much trouble, and she disliked very much being compelled to talk to him about selling her pictures. "Won't you have a cup of tea, Mr. MacTavish?" she asked, not knowing exactly what to say. The tall Scotsman declined politely, and came straight to business. "I've talked the matter over with Mr. Ringsmith, Mrs.
He had much regard for Peter, in spite of the latter's being almost the only man who did not hesitate to say what he thought to him, whether palatable or not. "Ha, old bird! I know what you've come for." Ringsmith has a large mouth, and although he is getting towards sixty his teeth are strong and sound.
David had subsided, and once more began relighting his pipe; he looked up at the name. "Frank Seaford oh, did you? How is he? I haven't seen him for some time " "So I gathered," Peter remarked dryly. "He seems to be getting on very well since Ringsmith took him up." "Ah! Ringsmith's right. He's a beautiful artist. Did you see " Peter interrupted. "I think I've seen all Seaford's work.
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