Part 11 (1/2)

”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.