Post Haste Part 12

"Keeping a shop!" repeated Aspel in surprise.

"Ay, keeping a shop--this shop," returned Mr Blurt; "you once told me you were versed in natural history; here is a field for you: a natural-historical shop, if I may say so."

"But, my dear sir, I know nothing whatever about the business, or about stuffing birds--and--and fishes." He looked round him in dismay. "But you are jesting!"

Mr Blurt declared that he was very far from jesting, and then went on to explain the circ.u.mstances of the case. It is probable that George Aspel would have at once rejected his proposal if it had merely had reference to his own advantage, and that he would have preferred to apply for labour at the docks, as being more suitable work for a sea-king's descendant; but the appeal to aid his friend in an emergency went home to him, and he agreed to undertake the work temporarily, with an expression of face that is common to men when forced to swallow bitter pills.

Thus George Aspel was regularly, though suddenly, installed. When evening approached Mrs Murridge lighted the gas, and the new shopman set to work with energy to examine the stock and look over the books, in the hope of thereby obtaining at least a faint perception of the nature of the business in which he was embarked.

While thus engaged a woman entered hastily and demanded her pheasant.

"Your pheasant, my good woman?"

"Yes, the one I left here to-day wi' the broken heye. I don't want to 'ave it mended; changed my mind. Will you please give it me back, sir?"

"I must call the gentleman to whom you gave it," said Aspel, rather sharply, for he perceived the woman had been drinking.

"Oh! you've no need, for there's the book he put my name down in, an'

there's the bird a-standin' on the shelf just under the _howl_."

Aspel turned up the book referred to, and found the page recently opened by Mr Blurt. He had no difficulty in coming to a decision, for there was but one entry on the page.

"This is it, I suppose," he said. "`A woman--I should say an idiot-- left a pheasant, _minus_'--"

"No more a hidyot than yourself, young man, nor a minus neither," cried the woman, swelling with indignation, and red in the face.

Just then a lady entered the shop, and approached the counter hurriedly.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, almost in a shriek of astonishment, "Mr Aspel!"

"Mr Aspel, indeed," cried the woman, with ineffable scorn,--"Mr Impudence, more like. Give me my bird, I say!"

The lady raised her veil, and displayed the amazed face of Miss Lillycrop.

"I came to inquire for my old friend--I'm _so_ grieved; I was not aware--Mr Aspel--"

"Give me my bird, I say!" demanded the virago.

"Step this way, madam," said Aspel, driven almost to distraction as he opened the door of the back shop. "Mrs Murridge, show this lady up to Mr Blurt's room.--Now then, woman, take your--your--brute, and be off."

He thrust the one-eyed pheasant into the customer's bosom with such vigour that, fearing a personal a.s.sault, she retreated to the door.

There she came to a full stop, turned about, raised her right hand savagely, exclaimed "You're another!" let her fingers go off with the force of a pea-cracker, and, stumbling into the street, went her devious way.

CHAPTER TEN.

A MYSTERY CLEARED UP.

When night had fairly hung its sable curtains over the great city, Mr Blurt descended to the shop.

"Now, Mr Aspel, I'll relieve you. The lady you sent up, Miss Lillycrop, is, it seems, an old friend of my brother, and she insists on acting the part of nurse to-night. I am all the better pleased, because I have business to attend to at the other end of the town. We will therefore close the shop, and you can go home. By the _way_, have you a home?"

"O yes," said Aspel, with a laugh. "A poor enough one truly, off the Strand."

"Indeed?--that reminds me: we always pay salaries in advance in this office. Here is a sovereign to account of your first quarter. We can settle the amount afterwards."

Aspel accepted the coin with a not particularly good grace.

"Now then, you had better--ha--excuse me--put up the shutters."

Instantly the youth pulled out the sovereign and laid it on the counter.

"No, sir," he said firmly; "I am willing to aid you in your difficulties, but I am not willing to become a mere shop-boy--at least not while there is man's work to be had."

Mr Blurt looked perplexed. "What are we to do?" he asked.

"Hire a little boy," said Aspel.

"But there are no little boys about," he said, looking out into the street, where the wind was sending clouds of dust and bits of straw and paper into the air. "I would do it myself, but have not time; I'm late as it is. Ah! I have it--Mrs Murridge!"

Calling the faithful domestic, he asked if she knew how to put up the shutters, and would do it. She was quite willing, and set about it at once, while Mr Blurt nodded good-night, and went away.

With very uncomfortable feelings George Aspel stood in the shop, his tall figure drawn up, his arms crossed on his broad breast, and his finely formed head bent slightly down as he sternly watched the operation.

Mrs Murridge was a resolute woman. She put up most of the shutters promptly in spite of the high wind, but just as she was fixing the last of them a blast caught it and almost swept it from her grasp. For two seconds there was a tough struggle between Boreas and the old woman.

Gallantry forbade further inaction. Aspel rushed out just in time to catch Mrs Murridge and the shutter in his strong arms as they were about to be swept into the kennel. He could do no more, however, than hold them there, the wind being too much even for him. While in this extremity he received timely aid from some one, whom the indistinct light revealed as a broad-shouldered little fellow in a grey uniform.

With his a.s.sistance the shutter was affixed and secured.

"Thank you, friend, whoever you are," said Aspel heartily, as he turned and followed the panting Mrs Murridge.

But the "friend," instead of replying, seized Aspel by the arm and walked with him into the shop.

"George Aspel!" he said.

George looked down and beheld the all but awe-stricken visage of Philip Maylands.

Without uttering a word the former sat down on the counter, and burst into a fit of half-savage laughter.

"Ah, then, you may laugh till you grow fat," said Phil, "but it's more than that you must do if I'm to join you in the laugh."

"What more can I do, Phil?" asked Aspel, wiping his eyes.

"Sure, ye can explain," said Phil.

"Well, sit down on the counter, and I'll explain," returned Aspel, shutting and locking the door. Then, mounting the stool, he entered into a minute explanation--not only in reference to his present position and circ.u.mstances but regarding his recent misfortunes.

Phil's admiration and love for his friend were intense, but that did not altogether blind him to his faults. He listened attentively, sympathetically but gravely, and said little. He felt, somehow, that London was a dangerous place compared with the west of Ireland,--that his friend was in danger of something vague and undefined,--that he himself was in danger of--he knew not what. While the two were conversing they heard a step in the now quiet street. It advanced quickly, and stopped at the door. There was a rustling sound; something fell on the floor, and the step pa.s.sed on.