When inquiries were made as to his financial standing the report
was invariably, "Honest but slow--he'll pay some time and somehow," and
the ghost of a bad debt was laid.
The slower the better for Jack. The delay helped his judgment. The
things he didn't want after living with them for months (Jack's test of
immortality) he was quite willing they should cart away; the things he
loved he would go hungry to hold on to.
This weeding-out process had left a collection of curios, stuffs,
hangings, brass, old furniture, pottery, china, costumes and the like,
around Jack's rooms, some of which would have enriched a museum: a Louis
XVI. cabinet, for instance, that had been stolen from the Trianon (what
a lot of successful thieves there were in those days); the identical
sofa that the Pompadour used in her afternoon naps, and the undeniable
curtain that covered her bed, and which now hung between Jack's
two rooms.
In addition to these ancient and veritable "antiques" there was a
collection of equally veritable "moderns," two of which had arrived that
morning from an out-of-town exhibition and which were at this precise
moment leaning against the legs of an old Spanish chair.
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