came.

I had expected to see a bearded patriarch with a hooked nose and three
hats on his head, but Mr. Bennett turned out to be a very spruce
gentleman, wearing (I was sorry to see) much better clothes than the
opera hat I proposed to sell him. He became businesslike at once.

"Just tell me what you want to sell," he said, whipping out a
pocket-book, "and I'll make a note of it. I take anything."

I looked round my spacious apartment and wondered what to begin with.

"The revolving book-case," I announced.

"I'm afraid there's very little sale for revolving book-cases now," he
said, as he made a note of it.

"As a matter of fact," I pointed out, "this one doesn't revolve. It got
stuck some years ago."

He didn't seem to think that this would increase the rush, but he made a
note of it.

"Then the writing-desk."

"The what?"

"The Georgian bureau. A copy of an old twentieth-century escritoire."

"Walnut?" he said, tapping it.

"Possibly. The value of this Georgian writing-desk, however, lies not in
the wood but in the literary associations."

"Ah! My customers don't bother much about that, but still--whose was
it?"

"Mine," I said with dignity, placing my hand in the breast pocket of my
coat. "I have written many charming things at that desk. My 'Ode to a
Bell-push,' my 'Thoughts on Asia,' my----"

"Anything else in this room?" said Mr. Bennett. "Carpet, curtains----"

"Nothing else," I said coldly.

We went into the bedroom and, gazing on the linoleum, my enthusiasm
returned to me.

"The linoleum," I said, with a wave of the hand.

"Very much worn," said Mr. Bennett.

I called his attention to the piece under the bed.

"Not under there," I said. "I never walk on that piece. It's as good as
new."

He made a note. "What else?" he said.

I showed him round the collection. He saw the Louis Quatorze
curtain-rods, the cork bedroom suite, the Caesarian nail-brush (quite
bald), the antique shaving-mirror with genuine crack--he saw it all. And
then we went back into the other rooms and found some more things for
him.

"Yes," he said, consulting his note-book. "And now how would you like me
to buy these?"

"At a large price," I said. "If you have brought your cheque-book I'll
lend you a pen."

"You want me to make you an offer? Otherwise I should sell them by
auction for you, deducting ten per cent commission."

"Not by auction," I said impulsively. "I couldn't bear to know how much,
or rat