The Genuine Article.

Evening Post, Volume LXVIII, Issue 80, 1 October 1904, Page 10

The Genuine Article.

"I don't know why it is," said Lady Isabel, "but the more one makes, the less one always seems to have." "Do you make so much, dear?" "No, only a scrap here and there," she jsaid regretfully, "because you see it takes such an awful lot to make an income, but T wasn't thinking of myself " "No?" "You needn't say 'No' in that tone, Marjorie, as though you thought me egoistic," said L?dy Isabel, in a slightly aggrieved roir*. "The fact is lam trying to help a friend.' "Beally— how kind of you, dear. Who is it?" "Laura Sta^nton," she answered, "a dear girl, the youngest daughter of our old vicar, like all clergymen he had what David or Solomon or somebody called 'a quiverful' of daughters, and now, ot course, he has left them without a penny." "How are you going to help her?" I said. "Well," replied Lady Isabel, "she has opened a shop for nice second-hand things, like grandfather's clocks and broken china and old fenders, and all that sort of thing," she added vaguely. "Oh, you mean curios — an old curiosity shop in fact." "Oni, e'est ca," said Lady Isabel. "And now, Majorie, dear" — delightedly — "you've put an idea into my head. I'll make her call it 'Ye anciente curiosyte shoppe,' but I must see she spells it right, it will sound so much more genuine." "It will certainly be an advantage in these days even to sound genuine." I said. THE MINIATURES. "Yes, won't it," she answered very pleasantly, "especially as most of the things will be faked. lou know they nearly always are at that sort oi shop." "Really?" * She nodded. "Yes— and I'll tell how it's done a little late* on." "How are you going to help Miss Staunton?" I asked a little later on. "Well, for one thing, I am going to take Mrs. Barrington-Brown there to buy things, for, see, we shall both be in town for a' day or so next week." "I see. And Mr. Fakenstein?" "No — I shan't take him," said Lady Isabel, hastily, "nor the Fliedermanns — they know too much — but I dare say they'll pick me up some little things for her to sell. She's very pretty — Laura, I mean." "'ls she faked, too?" I asked. Lady Isabel laughed. "No, my dear, she's not; she's absolutely genuine." "I've been going over the list of things in Laura's shop and re-arranging them,' said Lady Isabel the following afternoon. "How good of you." 1 "Oh, it's rather fun," she answered, bending over her table and writing something rapidly. "La Marquise Victorine — Victime dela Revolution, I reau. "Who's she?" "It's for a small miniature I picked up cheap," said Lady Isabel, airily. "It was very faded, but I got a little artist 1 know to touch it up for half a guinea." "And how did you find out who it I was?" "I didn't, she replied, frankly, "but if i don't know, I shall always put Victime de la Revolution — there were so many of thfem, poor dears, so I shall always be safe." j "Why call it anything?" "Only on account of the price," she answered, seriously. "You see, Mrs. Barrington-Brown will pay so much more j for something really historical." "1 see,' I said. RELATIVE VALUES ■ "All the broken china has gone to be mended by a little man :,Ir. FaKenste.in told me of— he lives in Whitechapel, or Notting Hill, or somewhere, and he's a Polish Jew, and frightfully clever and tricky. His name is Balenski, and you can't tell a Balenski-Chelsea figure from the real thing if you're ever such an expert — unless, of course, you know his work." "Is that how the collectors get their china mended?" "No," she said, "not collectors — only dealers. You see, collectors only care for genuine things, Dut then, of course," she added, thoughtfully, "dealers must live, and if you can't tell the difference it doesn't hurt anybody. Besides, collectors shouldn't be taken in r> "What a lot you seem to i'now about the subject, Isabel?" "Yes, Mr. Fakenstein taught me," she answered. "He told me how they make real old Worcester china ar.i rep' Chelsea and Crown Derby over in Paris, and how they make it over here almost, by the ton. And they make old Engl:_n glass, too, over in Holland and in Germany, and at a place called tne Giant Mountain — or the Giant something or other, but I think it was a mountain." A day or two later I went up with Lady Isabel to see Miss Staunton' s shop. Mrs. Barrington-Brown had not yet arrived, and Lady Isabel took me round the shop and let me into several little secrets. "This box is Battersea enamel," she said, "you know, Marjorie, enamelled on copper." I know," I said, "it's a lost art, isn't it: "Well, it's not quite as lost as you think,' she answered thougnunlly. "This, for instance" — she took up a little box as she spoke — "this is what I call a 'Balenski-Battersea' box, but this (ne is genuine — I mean it isn't mended yet." "And this," I said, taking up another. "Oh, that has just come back from

Paris. It has had a new lid. It's a pretty one — of course, it has no more intrinsic value than an enamelled saucepan, but then, all values are only reter tive, aren't they"" "What a pretty picture!" I said, turnirig to a print that, was lying on a small Chippendale table. She lifted it md handed it to me. "Yes," she said, isn't it? It is an old one — at least it will be old by the time I sell it to Mrs. Barrington-Brown. ' She dropped a little "historical" label in the box as she spoke. "You'll see how well we're going to make it pay. Majorie," she said with gaiety. TRADE SECRETS. "Do you thin 1 ' :t :s: s qtfite fair," I asked, feelb~, a« I said it, that I was, metaphorically -peaking, running my head against a wall of brick. "Fair!" she rrhoed, "my dear girl, of course, it's fair -I am only telling you some trade secret — all trades have their secrets — grocers and butchers, and artists, and every one." This dictum followed me .as I turned from greeting the newly-arrived Mrs. Barrington-Brown to speak tq Lady Isabel's protege. "How are you getting on, Miss Staunton?" "Very well," she answered, and added hurriedly, "you know we never give a fuarantee with anything, and Lady Isael only sends rich and ignorant people here who can-" well afford 1 to buy the things, and sh& >ften gives away a thing to a girl who is hard up, and she- — " "I Know, I "her disticc tions of honesty are wholly inin>' l able." "She's awfully clever," said Ltu.-a Staunton, glancing half apologetically a' Lady Isabel, who w?s .showing Mrs. Bar rington-Brown her "Victuri c^ la revolution." "I shall miss he r arfully while she is abroad. She is so very, very kind." "Very," I assented, "and she seems to be taking an especially great amount of trouble to make your fortune." "My fortune," echoed Laura Staunton, staring at me in amazement; "it doesn't affect me — I only get a salary!" "What!" I gasped — for even I was taken aback by this assertion, "Do you mean Lady Isabel pays you a salary?" Miss Staunton nodded. "Yeß," she said gratefully, "and a jolly good one, too." "But -why?" i asked. "Why should she pay you anyf-ing?" Laura Staunton looked at me in fresh astonishment. "Didn't you know?" she said; "I thought, of course, you knew." "I? — knew what? Whatever do you mean?' "I mean," sho explained, "that of course I thought you knew the shop be longed to Lady Isabel!"— Mrs. R. Neish, in the Daily Mail.