provision of bookshelves, and a kind of large closet which he had made into
a "cabinet." There are all sorts of cabinets, but this was a cabinet for
his "collection." His collection was not without some measure of local
fame; if not strictly valuable, it was at least comprehensive. After all,
he collected to please himself. He was a collector in Churchton and a
stockbroker in the city itself. The satirical said that he was the most
important collector in "the street," and the most important stockbroker in
the suburbs. He was a member of a somewhat large firm, and not the most
active one. His interest had been handed down, in a manner, from his
father; and the less he participated the better his partners liked it. He
had no one but himself, and a sister on the far side of the city, miles and
miles away. His principal concern was to please himself, to indulge his
nature and tastes, and to get, in a quiet way, "a good deal out of life."
But nobody ever spoke of him as rich. His collection represented his own
preferences, perseverance and individual predilections. Least of all had it
been brought together to be "realized on" after his death.

"I may be something of a fool, in my own meek fashion," he acknowledged,
"but I'm no such fool as that."

He had a few jades and lacquers--among the latter, the ordinary inkwells
and sword-guards; a few snuff-boxes; some puppets in costume from Mexico
and Italy; a few begrimed vellum-bound books in foreign languages (which he
could not always read); and now and then a friend who was "breaking up"
would give him a bit of Capo di Monte or an absurd enigmatic musical
instrument from the East Indies. And he had a small department of
Americana, dating from the days of the Civil War.

"Miscellaneous enough," pronounced Medora Phillips, on once viewing his
cabinet, "but not altogether"--she proceeded charitably--"utter rubbish."