O.U. The alert mind of
Pilkington followed their flight. He was intensely amused. He always
was amused when anybody showed a marked distaste for his society.
"Your business, not mine, this time, Rick. I happen to know of a
ripping old library for sale down in Devonshire. Shouldn't have
thought of it if I hadn't seen you."
"Well?" Rickman's face expressed an utter inability to perceive the
connection. Once the iron shutters had closed on Rickman's he felt
that he was no more a part of it. Words could not express his
abhorrence of the indecent people who insisted on talking shop out of
shop hours. And Dicky never had any decency.
"Well--it's practically on our hands, d'ye see? And if your people
care to take over the whole lot, I can let you have it pretty
reasonably."
Rickman's face emptied itself of all expression whatever.
"I say, you are a cool young cuss. Is this the way you generally do
business?"
"I'll think it over."
"Wouldn't think too long if I were you. It ought to go by auction, and
it might; only private contract's preferred."
"Why preferred?"
"Out of respect for the feelin's of the family."
Rickman's eyes were wandering dreamily from the matter in hand. They
had alighted on an enormous photograph of Miss Poppy Grace. For an
instant thought, like a cloud, obscured the brilliance of Mr.
Pilkington's face.
"Anyhow I've given you the straight tip," said Pilkington.
"Thanks.
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