Page:The Black Cat v06no11 (1901-08).djvu/51



T was Caverley's intention to select a present for her birthday—no ordinary, conventional little gift, but something which would show her that the selection had required time and search, something you couldn't see lying in shop-windows or advertised in the back of magazines, something to bring the color to her cheeks and the sparkle to her eyes and cause her to exclaim, "You've rummaged all over town for it, haven't you, you dear old boy?"

To this end he spent many afternoons in queer places—pawn-brokers' shops, curio stores and musty basements, where odd volumes or first editions might be brought to light. But his search was for a long time in vain. He could find nothing to suit his needs, for the tilings he found out of the ordinary would not gratify her taste, and the things which would suit her taste were too ordinary.

He had wellnigh given up further search and decided to go back to a little shop uptown and purchase an hour-glass of quaintly carved ivory—he hadn't the faintest idea to what use she could put it—when a lucky chance changed his plans.

He was passing an auction-room, where a red flag flaunted over the sidewalk and a shabby man with leathern lungs bawled forth an announcement that the entire stock of treasures inside would be sacrificed at auction at 2.30, and in the same breath he invited the passersby to step in and inspect it. More from idle curiosity than anything else, Caverley went within. There was the usual array of vases and chinaware, statuettes and rather glaring lamps. He wandered about, while a little man with a high-pitched voice trotted beside him, telling wonderful tales about every article before which Caverley made a momentary pause.