Post Haste Part 11

"Well, then," persisted Mr Blurt, "don't let your friends walk round the table. Shove the bird up against the wall; or tell your friends that it's a humorous bird, an' takes to winking when they go to that side."

The woman received this advice with a smile, but insisted nevertheless that a "noo heye" would be preferable, and wanted to know the price.

"Well, you know," said Mr Blurt, "that depends on the size and character of the eye, and the time required to insert it, for, you see, in our business everything depends on a life-like turn being given to an eye--or a beak--or a toe, and we don't like to put inferior work out of our hands. So you'd better leave the bird and call again."

"Very well, sir, w'en shall I call?"

"Say next week. I am very busy just now, you see--extremely busy, and cannot possibly give proper attention to your affair at present. Stay-- give me your address."

The woman did so, and left the shop while Mr Blurt looked about for a memorandum-book. Opening one, which was composite in its character-- having been used indifferently as day-book, cashbook, and ledger--he headed a fresh page with the words "Memorandum of Transactions by Enoch Blurt," and made the following entry:--

"A woman--I should have said an idiot--came in and left a pheasant, _minus_ an eye, to be repaired and called for next week."

"There!" exclaimed the unfortunate man, shutting the book with emphasis.

"Please, sir," said a very small sweet voice.

Mr Blurt looked over the top of his desk in surprise, for the owner of the voice was not visible. Getting down from his stool, and coming out of his den, he observed the pretty face and dishevelled head of a little girl not much higher than the counter.

"Please, sir," she said, "can you change 'alf a sov?"

"No, I can't," said Mr Blurt, so gruffly that the small girl retired in haste.

"Stay! come here," cried the repentant shopman. The child returned with some hesitation.

"Who trusted you with half a sov?"

"Miss Lillycrop, sir."

"And who's Miss Lillycrop?"

"My missis, sir."

"Does your missis think that I'm a banker?" demanded Mr Blurt sternly.

"I dun know, sir."

"Then why did she send you here?"

"Please, sir, because the gentleman wot keeps this shop is a friend o'

missis, an' always gives 'er change w'en she wants it. He stuffs her birds for her too, for nothink, an' once he stuffed a tom-cat for 'er, w'ich she was uncommon fond of, but he couldn't make much of a job of it, 'cause it died through a kittle o' boilin' water tumblin' on its back, which took off most of the 'air."

While the child was speaking Mr Blurt drew a handful of silver from his pocket, and counted out ten s.h.i.+llings.

"There," he said, putting the money into the child's hand, "and tell Miss Lillycrop, with my compliments--Mr Enoch Blurt's compliments--that my brother has been very ill, but is a little--a very little--better; and see, there is a sixpence for yourself."

"Oh, _thank_ you, sir!" exclaimed the child, opening her eyes with such a look of surprised joy that Mr Blurt felt comforted in his difficulties, and resolved to face them like a man, do his duty, and take the consequences.

He was a good deal relieved, however, to find that no one else came into the shop during the remainder of that day. As he sat and watched the never-ceasing stream of people pa.s.s the windows, almost without casting a glance at the ornithological specimens that stood rampant there, he required no further evidence that the business had already gone to that figurative state of destruction styled "the dogs." The only human beings in London who took the smallest notice of him or his premises were the street boys, some of whom occasionally flattened their noses on a pane of gla.s.s, and returned looks of, if possible, exaggerated surprise at the owl, while others put their heads inside the door, yelled in derision, and went placidly away. Dogs also favoured him with a pa.s.sing glance, and one or two, with sporting tendencies, seemed about to point at the game inside, but thought better of it, and went off.

At intervals the patient man called Mrs Murridge to mind the shop, while he went up-stairs. Sometimes he found the invalid dozing, sometimes fretting at the thoughts of the confusion about his letters.

"If they _all_ went astray one could understand it," he would say, pa.s.sing his hand wearily over his brow, "because that would show that one cause went on producing one result, but sometimes letters come right, at other times they don't come at all."

"But how d'you find out about those that don't come at all?" asked his brother.

"By writing to know why letters have not been replied to, and getting answers to say that they _have_ been replied to," said the invalid.

"It's very perplexing, Enoch, and I've lost a deal of money by it. I wouldn't mind so much if I was well, but--"

"There, now, you're getting excited again, Fred; you _must not_ speak about business matters. Haven't I promised to take it in hand? and I'll investigate this matter to the bottom. I'll write to the Secretary of the General Post-Office. I'll go down to St. Martin's-le-Grand and see him myself, and if he don't clear it up I'll write letters to the _Times_ until I bu'st up the British Post-Office altogether; so make your mind easy, Fred, else I'll forsake you and go right away back to Africa."

There was no resisting this. The poor invalid submitted with a faint smile, and his brother returned to the shop.

"It's unsatisfactory, to say the least of it," murmured Mr Blurt as he relieved guard and sat down again on the high stool. "To solicit trade and to be unable to meet the demand when it comes is a very false position. Yet I begin to wish that somebody would come in for something--just for a change."

It seemed as if somebody had heard his wish expressed, for at that moment a man entered the shop. He was a tall, powerful man. Mr Blurt had just begun to wonder what particular branch of the business he was going to be puzzled with, when he recognised the man as his friend George Aspel.

Leaping from his stool and seizing Aspel by the hand, Mr Blurt gave him a greeting so hearty that two street boys who chanced to pa.s.s and saw the beginning of it exclaimed, "Go it, old 'un!" and waited for more.

But Aspel shut the door in their faces, which induced them to deliver uncomplimentary remarks through the keyhole, and make unutterable eyes at the owl in the window ere they went the even tenor of their way.

Kind and hearty though the greeting was, it did not seem to put the youth quite at his ease, and there was a something in his air and manner which struck Mr Blurt immediately.

"Why, you've hurt your face, Mr Aspel," he exclaimed, turning his friend to the light. "And--and--you've had your coat torn and mended as if--"

"Yes, Mr Blurt," said Aspel, suddenly recovering something of his wonted bold and hearty manner; "I have been in bad company, you see, and had to fight my way out of it. London is a more difficult and dangerous place to get on in than I had imagined at first."

"I suppose it is, though I can't speak from much experience," said Mr Blurt. "But come, sit down. Here's a high stool for you. I'll sit on the counter. Now, let's hear about your adventures or misadventures.

How did you come to grief?"

"Simply enough," replied Aspel, with an attempt to look indifferent and easy, in which he was only half-successful "I went into a music-hall one night and got into a row with a drunk man who insulted me. That's how I came by my damaged face. Then about two weeks ago a fellow picked my pocket. I chased him down into one of his haunts, and caught him, but was set upon by half a dozen scoundrels who overpowered me. They will carry some of my marks, however, for many a day--perhaps to their graves; but I held on to the pick-pocket in spite of them until the police rescued me. That's how my clothes got damaged. The worst of it is, the rascals managed to make away with my purse."

"My dear fellow," said Mr Blurt, laughing, "you have been unfortunate.

But most young men have to gather wisdom from experience.--And now, what of your prospects? Excuse me if I appear inquisitive, but one who is so deeply indebted to you as I am cannot help feeling interested in your success."

"I have no prospects," returned the youth, with a tone and look of bitterness that was not usual to him.

"What do you mean?" asked his friend in surprise, "have you not seen Sir James Clubley?"

"No, and I don't intend to see him until he has answered my letter. Let me be plain with you, Mr Blurt. Sir James, I have heard from my father, is a proud man, and I don't much [half] like the patronising way in which he offered to a.s.sist me. And his insolent procrastination in replying to my letter has determined me to have nothing more to do with him. He'll find that I'm as proud as himself."

"My young friend," said Mr Blurt, "I had imagined that a man of your good sense would have seen that to meet pride with pride is not wise; besides, to do so is to lay yourself open to the very condemnation which you p.r.o.nounce against Sir James. Still further, is it not possible that your letter to him may have miscarried? Letters will miscarry, you know, at times, even in such a well-regulated family as the Post-Office."

"Oh! as to that," returned Aspel quickly, "I've made particular inquiries, and have no doubt that he got my letter all right.--But the worst of it is," he continued, evidently wis.h.i.+ng to change the subject, "that, having lost my purse, and having no account at a banker's, I find it absolutely necessary to work, and, strange to say, I cannot find work."

"Well, if you have been searching for work with a black eye and a torn coat, it is not surprising that you have failed to find it," said Mr Blurt, with a laugh. "But, my dear young friend and preserver," he added earnestly, "I am glad you have come to me. Ah! if that s.h.i.+p had not gone down I might have--well, well, the proverb says it's of no use crying over spilt milk. I have still a little in my power. Moreover, it so happens that you have it in your power to serve me--that is to say, if you are not too proud to accept the work I have it in my power to offer."

"A beggar must not be a chooser," said Aspel, with a light laugh.

"Well, then, what say you to keeping a shop?"