“Well, the best parrot-cage in the world ain’t complete without a parrot, so I see very well that the next move ought to be towards a bird o’ that specie. I brought to mind a very nice one I’d often seen in a quiet road not very many streets away, one as belonged to a nice old lady, in a very nice ’ouse with a garden round it. I’d seen that parrot stood outside for an airin’ o’ fine afternoons, an’ I hurried up now to get there before it was took in. You see the old gal hadn’t got anything like so fine a cage as this brass one, an’ I’d an idea her parrot an’ my cage ’ud go together well. But it all depended, you see, on the old lady bein’ in sight or not, whether my cage went outside ’er parrot—at a price—or ’er parrot went inside my cage, for nothin’. There’d be more business in the last arrangement, o’ course, but you have to take the best you can get in these ’ard times.
“I hurried up, an’ when I came to the place I see the parrot there all right, standin’ outside on a garden chair. I just strolled in an’ up the gravel path swinging the brass cage on my finger an’ lookin’ round for the old lady. I couldn’t see her nor anybody else, so I went up to the parrot an’ had a look at him. He was a fine ’andsome bird, an’ the cage he had wasn’t good enough for him, by a lot. It was just an ornery sort o’ iron wire cage, half wore out, an’ the fastenin’ was pretty nigh droppin’ off with rust. It was plain enough it was my cage that bird ought to be in, not a wore-out old thing like the one he’d got. I had a look round to make sure nobody was about, an’ then I took ’old o’ that rusty old catch an’ it came open afore I could ha’ winked.”
“Surprising!” I interjected. “And then I suppose the parrot flew straight into the brass cage?”
“No, sir,” Bill Wragg answered calmly, “you’re s’posin’ wrong. That wouldn’t be a likely thing for it to do. I might ha’ made it a bit more likely by shovin’ the open door o’ one cage agin the other, but that would ha’ looked suspicious, an’ I wasn’t quite sure that somebody mightn’t be a-peepin’ from somewhere. Why, they might ha’ thought I wanted to steal the bird! You’d scarcely believe ’ow suspicious people are. As it was, you see, it was nothin’ but a accident as might have occurred to anybody. I was just bringing in a nice cage to sell, an’ havin’ a look at the old ’un while I was lookin’ about for the lady.”
“Yes, of course,” I said, very solemnly. “Of course.”
“Well, sir, you’d hardly believe it, but that parrot no sooner found the door open than he flew out. Nothin’ to do with me, o’ course, but he did fly out, an’ quite properly I went arter him. I’d been the cause o’ the accident, you see, in a sort of indireck way, so I thought I ought to do what I could to catch the bird—only fair an’ proper. He flew out over the railings an’ down the road, an’ I went out the gate an’ trotted down the road after him. He ’lighted fust on a tree at the corner, so I let fly a stone an’ started him off a’ that, an’ away he went down the side street an’ along another turnin’.
“After that it was plain sailin’—all but the actual ketchin’ of ’im. You can pretty easy keep a parrot in sight—he takes a rest somewhere every fifty yards or so. Nobody hadn’t noticed in the quiet streets, but as soon as we got out a bit into the traffic the crowd got bigger every second, all huntin’ the parrot, an’ all ready to give ’im to me as soon as he was caught. ’Cause why? I dunno. I was just a-runnin’ after him with a open cage in my hand, that’s all. I never said he was my parrot. But everybody else kep’ sayin’ he was, an’ it’s a waste o’ time to start contradictin’ a crowd. So I kep’ well up in the mob, an’ kep’ a lookout in case the old lady should turn up, or one o’ them coal-office clerks. The crowd kep’ gettin’ bigger an’ bigger, an’ I got to be sich a celebrated an’ conspickuous character I began to feel a bit uncomfortable about it. You wouldn’t think there was such a lot o’ fools about, ready to come crowdin’ up an’ shoutin’ an’ rousin’ up the parish, just because of a parrot gettin’ loose. O’ course, I expected there’d be a bit of a crowd, but I hadn’t looked for quite sich a row as this, an’ I didn’t want it, neither. ‘There ’e is—that’s ’im!’ they was a-sayin’. ‘That sea-farin’ lookin’ bloke with the empty cage; ’e’s lost ’is parrot.’ Celebrity an’ fame’s all very well in its place, but a man o’ business; settin’ up for ’isself on credit, like me, don’t want too much of it at once. An’ the roust of it was, that there redikulus parrot was a-workin’ ’is way nearer an’ nearer the main road, with the tram-lines on it an’ them coal-offices one at each end, an’ the ’ole neighborhood turnin’ out as we went along.
“But nothin’ lasts for ever, an’ in the end he ’lighted on the sill of a attic winder at a corner ’ouse o’ the main road, an’ a slavey that was in the attic, she claps a towel over him an’ stands there screamin’ at the winder for fear he might peck through the towel.
“‘All right, miss,’ I sings out; ‘’old tight! He won’t bite! I’m a-comin’.’
“So they lets me in the front door, civil as butter, an’ I goes up to the attic, an’ in about half a quarter of a minute pretty Polly was inside the brass cage, as ’andsome an’ suitable as you please. I told the slavey she was the smartest an’ prettiest gal I’d seen since fust I went a-sailin’ on the stormy ocean, an’ ’ow I wished I was a bit younger an’ ’andsomer myself, for ’er sake, so it didn’t cost me nothin’; which was a bit o’ luck, for I’d been countin’ on havin’ to fork out a bob to somebody for collarin’ that bird.
“Well, the crowd began to melt a bit when I came out, the excitement bein’ over, but I didn’t like the look o’ things much, so I made up my mind I’d get the job over as soon as I could. I didn’t know when the old lady might turn up, an’ though o’ course I was only tryin’ to ketch her parrot for her, what had got out accidental, things might ’a’ looked suspicious. Not but what, o’ course, anybody could see that if I’d been a thief I’d ’a’ walked off with the bird an’ cage an’ all to begin with. A proper man o’ business allus arranges things like that, for fear of accidents. Men o’ business as ain’t clever enough to manage it is nothin’ but dishonest persons, an’ liable to be took up.
“There was a fine big pub across the road, at a corner a little farther down—sich a fine pub that it was an hotel, with a proper hotel entrance at one side, with plants in tubs an’ red carpets. It looked a sort o’ place that could afford a price, so I went in—not the hotel entrance, but just the other side, where there was a choice of three or four bar compartments. I went in the private bar, an’ got on to the landlord straight away as soon as I’d ordered a drink.
“‘I wanted that drink,’ I says, ‘arter the chase I’ve ’ad for this parrot. Not but what he ain’t worth it—I don’t b’lieve you could match a parrot like that, not in the Z’logical Gardens: I meant him for my dear of pal Dobbs at the coal office along the road, as you might ha’ known afore he died. When I ’eard the sad news, I thought I’d take ’im up to Leaden’all Market an’ sell ’im; ’e’s worth ten quid of anybody’s money, is that bird, an’ the cage ’ud be cheap at a couple. But I managed to let him loose—my fault, through fiddlin’ with the catch o’ the cage door. An’ ’e’s led me such a dance it’ll be too late for me to git up to the market now.’
“The parrot had been a-straightenin’ of his feathers out an’ makin’ himself tidy arter the scramble an’ just at this very moment he gives a sort o’ little grumble to himself an’ then raps out ‘Pretty Poll! Hullo! Shut up!’
“‘Hear him talk!’ I says. ‘He’ll go on like that all day an’ say anything you please. What an ornament he’d be to this ’andsome bar o’ yours! People’d come a-purpose to see him. Come,’ I says, ‘You shall have him for five pound, cage an’ all! How’s that?’ says I.
“Well, the landlord seemed quite on to buy him, though o’ course he wouldn’t do it without a haggle—’twasn’t likely. But arter a bit we settled it at three quid, an’ he handed over the
jemmies. An’ cheap it was, too. So he stood the cage up on the top o’ where a partition joined the bar-screen, where everybody could see him, an’ said he’d have a proper shelf made for him tomorrow. I didn’t hang about much arter that, you may guess. But as soon as I got into the street, who should I see but the clerk from the coal office, the one that had sprung the five bob, talking to a chap as was pointin’ to the pub. Of course, the first thing I thought of was a bolt, but afore I could make up my mind he caught sight o’ me. So up I went as bold as brass.
“‘Hullo,’ says I, ‘that there parrot o’ yours is led me a pretty dance. Got out o’ the cage an’ kep’ me all the afternoon chasin’ him.’
“‘Yes,’ says old Giglamps, ‘I wondered where you’d got to, but when I shut the office I heard about a parrot bein’ lose, an’ that man told me you’d brought it in here.’
“‘Quite right,’ says I, ‘an’ so I did. Come in yourself, an’ sec it. But the cage ain’t settled for yet,’ I says, ‘an’ it’ll cost you five bob more at least; though the chap’s askin’ even more’n that.’
“So I led him into the compartment on one side o’ the partition, an’ showed him the bird in the cage.
“‘What are you goin’ to stand?’ says I. ‘You can see what sort of a cage it is—two quid’s nearer its real price than ten bob.’
“Old Giglamps calls for whisky an’ soda for two, an’ says ‘Pretty Polly’ to the bird, same as what any customer might do, an’ then he hands me over another five bob.
“‘I think he’ll take ten bob,’ says I, ‘an’ I’ll just run round an’ see if you’ll wait here.’
“I was in an extra hurry, you see, for very good reason. He was sittin’ down, but I was standin’ up an’ keepin’ a weather eye on the street outside; an’ there who should I see, starin’ up at the pub front, but the clerk from the other coal office! What ho, thinks I, this tale o’ the parrot hunt’s got about an’ things is warmin’ up! So I skips out quick, an’ ketches the chap by the arm.
“‘Hullo!’ says he, ‘what about that parrot?’
“‘Ain’t you heard?’ says I. ‘He got out o’ the cage an’ led me no end of a dance. But he’s all right,’ I says, an’ I led the chap off to another compartment away from his pal.
“‘I did hear about it,’ says he, ‘an’ that’s why I came here. I began to wonder where you’d got to.’
“‘All right,’ says I, ‘he’s safe enough—I left him in charge of the landlord, an’ I was a-comin’ along arter you, ’cos I wanted to tell you something private. The fact is,’ I says, whisperin’ in his ear, ‘the landlord’s took a great fancy to that parrot. He’s fair mad on it. O’ course, the parrot’s yours, an’ you can sell it or not, just as you please. But if you do sell it, don’t take less than ten pound, an’ if you get ten pound—well, I think I ought to have a quid or two out of it, oughtn’t I, seein’ as I give you the bird? That’s fair, ain’t it says I.
“‘Yes,’ says he, ‘that’s all right. If I get a tenner for it, I’ll see you afterwards.’
“‘All right,’ says I. ‘You come in an’ sit down, an’ don’t say nothing about it. You mustn’t seem anxious to sell. I told the landlord I was goin’ to see the owner an’ I’ll go round the back way an’ talk him confidential into givin’ a good price. You lie low till I give you the tip.’
“So he goes in an’ sees his cage there all safe with the parrot in it, an’ he orders his drink an’ sits down quiet. I thought o’ rushin’ round into the private bar an’ tellin’ the landlord he was a chap comin’ to offer a price for the bird, just to mix things up a bit while I got away. But when I got outside there was another surprise, s’elp me. It was just gettin’ dusk, and there was the poor old lady as had lost her parrot, with a handkerchief over her head an’ the cage in’er’and, comin’ down the road disconsolate, lookin’ up at the houses after her bird!
“When you’ve got a run o’ luck, follow it up. That’s my motto. It was a bit of a risk, but I skipped across the road an’ said: ‘Beg pardon, mum, but was you a lookin’ for a parrot?’
“‘Oh, yes,’ she says. ‘Have you seen it? If you’ll only help me find my poor bird, I’ll be so grateful! I didn’t know he’d got out till I went to bring the cage in. Several people told me he’d come along this road an’ been caught,’ says she. ‘Is that true? Do you know who’s got him?’
“‘Yes mum,’ says I, ‘I can put you on the track at once. Your parrot’s in that public ’ouse opposite, havin’ been took there by the man as caught it. I’ll see about it for you, mum,’ I says. ‘You come across an’ sit down in the hotel entrance, mum. It’s quite respectable there, mum. The man what’s got it is a low sort o’ chap, mum—a coalheaver, name o’ Dobbs, a-sittin’ in the jug department. You can see your bird from the hotel entrance, mum, stood up on a partition. O’ course, a rough feller like that Dobbs wouldn’t be allowed in the hotel entrance an’ a lady like you couldn’t go into the jug department. I’ll see about it. I expect he’ll cut up rough an’ want to claim the bird, mum, but I’ll see you get your rights, mum!’
“‘Oh, thank you,’ says the old gal, ‘I shall be so grateful if you will. I’ve been so distressed at the idea of losin’ my dear Polly! If you will get him back, I’ll be most grateful. Of course, I’ll pay a reward.’
“Jesso, mum,’ I says, ‘jesso. But not more’n half a sovereign. I’ll see you ain’t swindled, mum,’ I says. ‘That chap Dobbs ’ud be extortionate, but not a farden more’n half a sovereign, mum,’ says I, ‘if you’ll allow me to advise you. I’ll see to it for you, mum. You just sit down in the hotel entrance, mum, an’ give me the half-sovereign, an’ I’ll talk to him firm—firm. It’s the only way, with these low characters. I’ll talk to him firm, an’ mention the p’lice. I’ll see about it for you, mum!’
“So I sits the old gal down with her birdcage on the settee in the hotel entrance, takes her half-quid, an’—well, I left ’er there an’ hooked it round the first turnin’ an’ travelled straight ahead, fast, for the next half-hour.
“That made near four quid altogether, raised on credit. In my business a chap as can’t start very well on four quid ain’t fit to start at all, sir. I done very well, startin’ on credit, like I’m tellin’ you.”
“And you’ve never net any of your creditors since?” I asked.
“No, sir I ain’t. My business don’t seem to take me that way. It’s just a book debt, you see—just a book debt. They can’t complain. What they was all arter—the two coal clerks, the landlord, an’ the old lady—what they paid for, was nothin’ but the parrot an’ the cage, wasn’t it? Well, and there it was for them, with them all round it. They couldn’t expect more’n that, could they?”
For the first time during the story I could detect an indistinct chuckle from somewhere deep in Bill Wragg’s throat.
“There’s just one thing I was sorry for,” he said; “but then you can’t ’ave everything. I should ’a’ liked to ’a’ seen the shindy when them respectable parties got tired o’ waitin’, an’ began to start in an’ try to settle it all among ’emselves! I’d almost ’a’ give a quid back to ’ear ’ow they did settle it! But that ’ud be a luxury, an’ a man o’ business starting on credit can’t afford luxuries!”
THE SELLER OF HATE
First published in The Graphic Illustrated, Feb 23, 1907s
There is an English county of which it is said that the devil never entered it for fear of being put into a pie. At the moment I cannot remember which county it is, and know no more of it than to be certain it was not Essex, for all Essex pies are filled with much care, and are excellent. Nevertheless, it is the fact that in the old days, before he began building cheap villas, the devil very rarely came into Essex, and even now seldom ventures beyond the parts that they sell, by auction, in building lots. For the old Essex men were too hard for him, and the county bore him no luck. Every
body knows of his historic defeat at Barn Hall, and here I have the tale of his bad bargain at Cock-a-Bevis Hill.
It was some little time ago—some might not call it a little time: at any rate it was before all the improvements—that old Luke Hoddy lived in a cottage on the lower slope of Cock-a-Bevis Hill. It was so small a cottage that it might have been called a shed without slander, and a very lonely, sullen, smoky, frowning, illconditioned-looking shed it was, because it is the property of a house to proclaim its tenant’s character, and Luke Hoddy was that sort of man. He was lonely, like his cottage, because he was sullen and frowning and ill-conditioned, like it also; and they both looked passing smoky because of neglect.
It might be venturing too far to say that Luke Hoddy was the most misanthropic man in the world, or even in all England. But certainly he must have been the most misanthropic man in all Essex, where men were all smiling, jolly, and pleasant together in the days when the devil feared their honest faces. Luke Hoddy not only hated his fellow men, but he kept pigs, and hated them; he also kept fowls, and hated them too. He detested the poor cottage wherein his poverty condemned him to live; he loathed the people who bought eggs of him, and so enabled him to live there; he abominated the children who bought apples from the tree in the garden, abominated them to such an extent that I cannot guess what sentiments he had left for the boys who stole them in the dusk. He abhorred the whole world, and everything in it. He was poor and ugly and old, and he resented each misfortune as though it were the personal and individual crime of every creature but himself. When he sold a fowl or a dozen eggs he did it with so evil a grace that he had to sell cheaper than anybody else, or keep his wares; and this was another reason for hating his customer. He hated the money he took, because it wasn’t more; the eggs he sold, because he couldn’t keep them; the hen that laid them, because there weren’t thrice as many; the rest of the fowls, because they didn’t care; and he was only glad of an order for one because he could kill it without losing money. If he could have wrung his customer’s neck as cheaply, he would have done it with joy. To hate everybody better off than himself was part of his nature; and he hated the rest because they were so cheerful, comparatively. If you had given him a sackful of sovereigns he would have been your enemy for life, because they weren’t guineas; and you would have deserved much worse for being such a fool.
The Arthur Morrison Mystery Page 157