"Yes, you wait on the fine ladies. Only--" he held up a finger, "always I make the price." An artist looking in upon this bewhiskered, shabbily dressed keeper of a second-hand store and his niece all pink and fresh in her spotless smock, would have found contrast to suit his taste. "See!" Nicholas Fischer spoke again, "I will break open the locks and lift the lids, but you must not unpack the trunks. Leave that to the fine ladies. They will tell you they are 'exploring.'" "But supposing they find something truly valuable--a--a diamond or something!" Grace protested. "If they find a diamond, then I drop dead. What will it matter?" Nicholas Fischer laughed hoarsely. "But you keep watch." His shrewd eyes gleamed. "If you find a diamond, then you and I will buy us a Christmas present." "Good!" It was the girl's turn to laugh. "Christmas will soon be here. I'll find the diamond, you'll see, and a few stocks and bonds for good measure." "Yes. Stocks and bonds." Seizing a hammer and chisel, Nicholas Fischer pried off the lock of a large, round-topped trunk. "The round-topped ones," he commented, "they come from the country. Sometimes there are very fine wool blankets in these. Then we make a few dollars." While her uncle was prying away at the locks, the girl had an opportunity to study the trunks that, standing as they did, huddled in a group and tipped this way and that, reminded her of a picture she had seen of six very tipsy men awaiting the police wagon. "Trunks," she told herself, "are like people. They have character. There is a big wardrobe--a trifle shabby to be sure, but still standing on its dignity. And there are three canvas covered ones, huddled together. Never been anybody in particular and never will be. There's that one with bright orange stripes running around it, like a delicate lady. There's that good solid citizen, oak ribs and stout metal edges. And there--" Having moved a little, she had caught sight of a tiny brown trunk that appeared to hide behind the "solid citizen." "Horsehair trunk," she whispered to herself. "Old as the hills. What must it contain?" And then her uncle, chisel in hand, approached. "Please!" Her cry was one almost of pain. "Are there not enough others? This little one must not have much in it. Let me look at it--alone tonight." Nicholas Fischer, looking into her pleading eyes, shook his head. "I am afraid you will wreck my business. You are too soft." Nevertheless, he spared the little trunk. Dropping his chisel in the corner, he threw a ragged blanket over it as he muttered, "Tomorrow will be time enough. But mind you, it must be tomorrow." The "ladies" came, just as her uncle had promised they would. They came dressed in furs--mink, marten and Hudson seal--for it was a bleak, blustery day. They picked their way daintily between piles of used bedding and soiled dresses, to pause at last before the open trunks.