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NOT FOR SALE
O
N a Thursday morning
of a bright but particularly cold November day some ten years ago,
there stood in front of a shop window in a large Chinese city a
European with his generous nose fairly glued to a pane of plate-glass,
behind which lay on a blue silk pad, snugly curled like a snake after
dinner, an uncommonly attractive rope of pearls.
On a creamy ivory card beside it was set out the price— 15,500 Canton dollars.
The
European stood and gazed for a long time, taking no notice of the
pressing rickshaw-men who, as they went by in endless procession,
clamored for his custom. "Fifteen thousand five hundred," he muttered,
"at ten dollars to the pound, that makes fifteen hundred and fifty
pounds. Why, it would be cheap at double the price!"
Whereupon he strolled leisurely through the swing-doors into the jewelry section of the great Chinese department store.
"Can
I see that string of pearls you have in the window?" he asked the
somnolent salesman who sat on his high chair picking his teeth.
In
Bond Street all would be suavity and attention for a customer inquiring
after such an object, provided he looked as though he could pay for it.
But here, instead of springing to attention at the mere prospect of a
sale, the salesman eyed the would-be customer suspiciously before
sliding with the slowest of motions from his perch. He brought out the
necklace with the tired air of one who knows he is being uselessly
troubled.
The European scrutinized the pearl rope closely and saw
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