The Old Man and Me by Elaine Dundy Page A

I certainly didn’t consider myself a patriot, had never considered myself an American with a capital A for that matter, and yet half our conversation that day seemed to consist in sniping at the other’s country. Was I going to allow the rest of our time to be wasted in transatlantic squabbles? It was dangerous to say the least.
    A little girl feeding the ducks noticed me standing there and casually offered me some bread so that I could join in. What did she care what country I came from? The act of unthinking generosity did much to restore my sense of balance.
    Presently C. D. was beside me. “I’m thinking of going along to the Antique Fair. I understand they’ve got some quite extraordinary pieces this time. Will you join me?”
    “That would be really asking for it,” I sighed. “If there’s anything I know less about than trees it’s antiques.”
    “Then it’s time you learned.” Something in his tone had made me turn and look at him closely, and I saw that his eyes were as grave as his voice and I understood finally that being with C. D. meant being continually under his instruction; but that it need not necessarily be meant unkindly.
    “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
    “Of course.”
    “No, I mean...I mean...lime,” I said suddenly, pointing to the linden tree; and “sycamore,” I said pointing to the maple. “Now teach me about antiques,” and I smiled in sweet surrender and we tootled off in the general direction of Park Lane.
    We were stopped on South Audley Street by the two gigantic elephant-sized elephants made entirely of china that filled the high windows of Goodes.
    “What do you make of those?” asked C.D., calling my attention to them.
    “Crazy,” I replied admiringly.
    “Would you like to have them?”
    “They’re what I want most.”
    C. D. considered. “Only
one
I think though, don’t you?”
    “Oh yes. Two’s too much.”
    “We’d like to inquire about the elephants in your window,” C. D. told the startled sales clerk. “We rather fancy something for our hall. We have a very big hall and we need something to fill it. I think one of those elephants would do nicely in our front hall, wouldn’t it, my dear? Right in the centre.”
    “Not perhaps the teensiest bit off centre?” I wondered.
    “Dear me, no. Dead centre. Yes. Instead of a fountain.”
    “Now I see. Of course, darling.”
    “How much are you thinking of asking for them?” C. D. inquired.
    “Why I—don’t know, sir,” said the sales clerk. The thought had clearly never entered his mind. “We don’t have many—In fact, I don’t even know if—A moment, sir. I’ll try to find out.” He edged over to the window, standing as close as possible to the enormous pieces of crockery, and strained forward peering under their huge bellies hopefully as if they might offer up the secret. When they didn’t, he wandered off.
    “They come to about £3,000 each, sir,” he said returning. “But I’m afraid they’re not for sale.” He seemed greatly relieved.
    “What a pity! Why not?”
    “They’re being shown at the next Paris Exhibition.” The man regarded them once more with total mystification. “They’re—ah—very unusual objects aren’t they?” he added, before he put them safely out of his mind. “Perhaps something else?”
    “There’s nothing else big enough,” complained C. D., letting his eyes flicker discontentedly over the tea-sets and greeting cards. “No. I had my heart set on one of these elephants.”
    “In any case, I’m sure we’d only sell them as a pair,” said the clerk, who was still determined to save him from his folly.
    C. D. paused before receiving inspiration; then “Perhaps we could have one copied?” he asked hopefully.
    “I’ll try to find out for you, sir,” sighed the clerk and dragged himself off but returned in considerably better spirits.
    “I have to disappoint you again, sir,” he said cheerfully. “They can’t make ’em up