“Aye, ’tis argyment, but not information. If you can see it, Elijah Weeley, tell me what ’tis you see. Is it like a horse, for instance?”
“Well, sir, as to that, Master Murrell, ’tis most likely you’d be right, sir, ben’t it?”
“Aye, it is, Elijah Weeley. Go on.”
“Why, sir, that bein’ so, sir, Master Murrell, sir, you be right an’ most wonderful scientific, sartin to say, an’ now I come to look at it ’tis most powerful like a boss — quite wonderful; more like than most real hosses, as you might say.”
“Wonderful! Elijah Weeley — wonderful! Give Joe Barstow the charm. Can you see a hoss, Joe Barstow?”
“Aye, yes, Master Murrell, sartenly,” answered that politician eagerly, almost before he had snatched the charm. “Two on ‘em!” he proceeded bidding higher again. “Two on ‘em, with saddles!”
“With saddles?” exclaimed Murrell, raising his eyes and reaching Joe in a stride. “Saddles? What’s this you’re looking at, Joe Barstow?”
“Lookin’ at? Why, the charm, Master Murrell, sir! The charm!”
“The charm? That? Why, ’tis the lid o’ my darter’s copper kettle, put by for a new rim an’ handle! I must ha’ took it by mistake. An’ you saw hosses in it! Two hosses with saddles! ’Twould seem to me this here kettle lid be as good a charm as any with the likes o’ you, Joe Barstow an’ Elijah Weeley. It tell plain enough that you be liars both! An’ ’tis a kettle-lid! Hosses and saddles. Oh, ’tis shameful to reflect on the depravity of the age! To think that two grown men should walk about the face of this earth with lies that any kettle-lid can contradict!”
Terrible in his righteous wrath, the old man shook his head in the cowed faces of Joe and Elijah, seized the jar of rum, pushed it into a cupboard, and locked the door on it.
“After what I’ve larned of you, I misdoubt much how you came by that jar,” he said, “an’ ’twould be abettin’ your wickedness to let it out o’ my charge; an’ so I do my duty, in face o’ the wickedness o’ these times. Take them two out with you, Dan Fisk; I want no such characters as them in my house!”
This was certainly the last occasion on which anybody had the temerity to inquire for the copper charm. And it was months ere the jar was seen again; when it was observed to be a jar of rum no longer; for Cunning Murrell was using it to carry horse medicine, a thing in which he drove a thriving trade.
DOBBS’S PARROT
BILL WRAGG, dealer in dogs, birds, and guinea-pigs, began business in the parrot line, with a capital of nothing and no parrots. The old rascal hinted so much when I got from him the tale of his champion terrier, Rhymer the Second, which you may read elsewhere. But I observed for long a certain reluctance to talk with any particularity of this affair of parrot-dealing. From this I judged that it must have been a transaction of uncommon — well, say acumen — even for Bill Wragg; and so I found it, when at last he made his confession.
“Beginnin’ business without capital,” said Bill Wragg, wiping his pipe with a red-spotted handkerchief, “is all a matter o’ credit, o’ course. Lots o’ people begin on credit, an’ do very well; an’ different people get their credit different ways. I begun on credit, an’ I got my credit from perfick strangers, quite easy.
“I was frightful ‘ard up, just then — stony-broke, in fact. I’d been lookin’ out for odd jobs ‘ere an’ there, an’ gettin’ precious few of ‘em. Last job I’d had was down Wappin’ way, givin’ a hand at a foreign animal shop, where the reg’lar chap was away ill. The guv’nor, he give me a suit o’ clothes to begin with, ‘cause he said mine ‘ud disgrace the shop, an’ so they would. The new clothes wasn’t new altogether — a sailor-bloke had died in ‘em a fortnight afore, at a crimp’s; but they was all right, an’ I took it mighty generous o’ the guv’nor, till the end o’ the week, an’ then ‘e stopped ‘em out o’ my wages. Well, I’d been gone away from that job a long time, an’ there didn’t seem another job to be had; so, bein’ stony-broke, as I just said, I thought I might as well set up for myself.
“It was the clothes that give me the idea to begin with — them bein’ of a seafarin’ sort; just the sort o’ things a man might wear as was bringin’ ‘orne a parrot. An’ what put the idea into movin’ shape was me passin’ a little coal-office — one o’ them little shanties where a clerk sits all day to take orders. I knew that place, consequence of a friend o’ mine ‘avin’ done a little business there about a dawg with the clerk; it was a careless bit o’ business as might ha’ got my friend in trouble, if the clerk ‘adn’t gone an’ died almost at once. Well, this clerk’s name was Dobbs, an’ rememberin’ that, I thought I see my way to raisin’ a bit o’ credit.
“I just went into the office all gay an’ friendly, an’ ‘Good arternoon,’ I says to the noo clerk. ‘Good arternoon. Is Mr. Dobbs in?’
“‘No,’ says he, ‘Mr. Dobbs is dead. Been dead six months.’
“‘Dead?’ says I. ‘What? Dead? My dear ol’ pal Dobbs? No, it can’t be true,’ I says.
“‘It is true,’ says the chap. ‘Anyway, I see the funeral, an’ I’ve got his job.’
“‘Well, now,’ I says, ‘whoever’d a’ believed it? Poor ol’ Dobbs! When I went on my last voyage I left him as well an ‘arty as ever I see anybody! This is a awful shock for me,’ I says.
“The clerk was rather a dull-lookin’ sort o’ chap, with giglamps, an’ he just nodded his head.
“‘Quite a awful shock,’ I says. ‘Why, I brought ‘orne a parrot for ‘im! A lovely parrot — talks like a — like a angel, an’ whistles an toon you like. I come here to sec him about it! It’s a awful shock.’
“‘Yes,’ says Giglamps, ‘it was rather sudden.’
“‘Sudden ain’t the word,’ I says; ‘it’s positive catastrophageous. An’ what am I to do with that beautiful parrot? I can’t take it away with me; the new skipper wouldn’t stand it— ‘e’s a terror. Besides I couldn’t bear to be reminded of poor ol’ Dobbs every time I see ‘is lovely ploomage or ‘card ‘im talk — talks just like Dan Leno, does that bird. What am I to do with it? I’m a lonely sort o’ chap, an’ haven’t got a soul in the world to give it to, now poor old Dobbs is gone. If I only knowed a nice kind ‘orne for it, I’d — but hold on,’ I says, all of a sudden, ‘how about you? Will you have it? Eh? I don’t believe you’d treat such a ‘andsome bird unkind, would you? I’ll give ‘im to you, an’ welcome, if you’ll take care of ‘im. ‘E’s a valuable bird, too, but o’ course, I don’t want to make money out of ‘im. Come, you shall have him!’
“I could see old Giglamps was gettin’ interested, thinkin’ he was in for a ‘andsome present. ‘Hem!’ he says, ‘it’s very kind of you, an’ of course I’ll have the bird with pleasure, an’ take every care of him; very kind of you indeed, I’m sure it is.’
“‘That’s all right,’ I says, ‘it’s nothing to me, so long as pore Peter gets a good ‘orne. Peter’s his name,’ I says. ‘I’ll go an’ fetch him along ‘ere. Got a cage?’
“‘Why, no,’ says he, ‘I ain’t got a cage.’
“‘Must ‘ave a cage,’ says I. ‘The one he’s in now don’t belong to me. Must ‘ave a cage. What are you going to do about it?’
“‘I dunno,’ says Giglamps, lookin’ ‘elpless.
“‘A good parrot cage comes a bit dear, to buy new,’ I says. ‘But there’s a fine secondhand one you might get cheap just over in Walworth. I’ll mind the office while you go.’
“‘No,’ he says, ‘I can’t leave the place.’ Of course, I knowed that well enough — it was part o’ the game. ‘I can’t leave the place,’ says he. ‘I s’pose you couldn’t see about it?’
“Well,’ says I, thoughtful like, ‘I’m a bit busy, but p’raps I might. It’s a fine cage, an’ worth a price; but, properly managed, I might try and get it for five bob, though I expect it’ll be more. Anyhow,’ I says, ‘give me the five bob, an’ if I have to pay any more I’ll trust you for it till I come back.’
“S
o I just puts out my hand casual, and in drops the five bob. So I went out that much to the good in credit.”
Here I fear I exhibited something positively like a grin. “Credit or cash?” I queried.
“Credit, I said, sir,” Bill replied, virtuously. “Cash an’ credit’s the same thing with a man o’ business like me. I went out with that five bob, an’ I put in threepence of it for a small drink that I wanted very bad arter bein’ without so long. I had my drink, an’ I thought things over, an’ I made up my mind that ten bob was just twice as useful as five to start business with, and there was just such another office of the same coal company only a penny tram ride off, that might be good for another crown. So I took that penny tram ride, and found the other office. It was a much smarter, brisker lookin’ chap at this place, I found; but I went at him the same way — askin’ for Dobbs.
“‘Dobbs?’ says the new chap. ‘No; he used to be up at the next office along the road there, but he’s dead now.’
“‘Dead?’ says I. ‘What, my old pal Dobbs?’ And I did it all over again for the new chap. I think the trouble was worth the money and more, but a man mustn’t be afraid o’ work when he’s beginnin’ business with no capital. So I did it all again very careful, an’ when I came to off erin’ him the parrot he was ready enough.
“‘Why, rather,’ he says, ‘I’ll have him. I’m very fond o’ birds. A parrot’s just what I want.’
“‘All right,’ says I, ‘you shall have him an’ welcome. I’ll fetch him along here.’ So I starts round to go, and pitches back the old question from the door. ‘Got a cage?’ says I.
“This time I got a bit of a surprise. ‘Cage?’ says he; ‘oh, yes — I’ve got a cage — got a stunner that belonged to my aunt. A parrot’s just what I wanted to put in it. Here it is.’
“An’ he went into the little cubby-hole at the back an’ dragged out a fust-rate brass cage as good as new. It wasn’t what I’d expected, a coincidence like that, but it don’t do to be took aback at little changes o’ luck. ‘All right,’ says I, ‘that’ll do.’ An’ I laid ‘old o’ the cage an’ slung out with it.
“Some chaps mightn’t have the presence o’ mind for that, havin’ only the five bob in their minds, but a man o’ business is got to be ekal to anything as comes along, an’ this ‘ere cage was worth a sight more’n the five bob, anyhow. So there I was, a business man at large, with the rest o’ five bob an’ a fust-class brass parrot-cage, on credit, to begin business with.
“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.’
Delphi Complete Works of Arthur Morrison Page 251