Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3808/The Collectors
My dinner partner was a self-made man and not ashamed of it.
"Do you take an interest in china, ma'am?" he asked me.
I felt that if I said "Yes" I should have to buy some. So I said "No," but he didn't wait to hear what I said.
"I think I may say," he continued, "that I have the finest collection of old Dresden china in London."
He went into the figures, explaining the cost price and the difficulty of storage.
"Oh," said I, "if you find it a nuisance, I've a parlour-maid I could recommend to you; just the girl to help you to get rid of it."
At this point I think he had some idea of having the finest collection of parlourmaids in Middlesex, but he made it small dogs instead. Was I interested in these? No, but I supposed I'd have to be if he insisted.
"I don't think I should be far wrong," he began, but I hustled him through to the end of his sentence.
"Finest collection in—?" I asked.
"England," he said.
He went over their points, and in an expansive moment I marvelled. This was imprudent, as it caused him to search his mind for some further spectacular triumph wherewith to amaze and delight.
"That," he said, looking up the table, "is my wife."
"Marvellous," said I.
He took this in the best part. "You refer to her diamonds?" he said.
"Did I?" said I.
"The finest collection in Great Britain," he declared, and spread himself over the subject.
Later, in a mood of concession, he inquired as to my specialities. I had none, at least none that I could think of. Determined to extract something noteworthy, he questioned me on every possibility. Was I not married? That was so, I agreed, but then so many women are.
"You have sons, ma'am?" he persisted, with that implacable optimism to which, among other things, he no doubt owed his success in the world.
I thought of Baby. "Ah yes, of course," I said. "The finest collection in Europe."