She proceeded breathlessly until she came to the last flight, where, behold! the stairs had all been smashed in by those awkward pianists, and she stood on the dreadful verge of a drop into a cellar full of darkness and disgusting smells. But she was able to leap upon the banister-rail which was intact, and slide splendidly to the ground floor. An unusual sight awaited her. Mrs. Squance did not remember ever to have seen such a thing before, but there in the hall a marvellous eustacia tree was growing out of the floor. She was not surprised at the presence of a tree in that unwonted situation. She had not noticed it before, but it did not seem out of place. Why shouldn’t trees grow where they liked? They always did. Mrs. Squance invariably took life as she found it, even in dreams. While she was surveying the beautiful proportions of the eustacia tree, the richness of its leaves, and its fine aroma a small bird, without warning or apology, alighted upon her right hand—which she carried against her chest as if it were in a sling, though it wasn’t—and laid an egg on it. It was so annoying, she did not know what to do with it; she was afraid of smashing it. She rushed from the building, and entered the butcher’s shop a few doors away. The shop was crowded with customers, and the butcher perspired and joked with geniality, as is the immemorial custom with butchers. His boy, a mere tot of five or six years of age, observed to Mrs. Squance that it was “a lovely day, ma’am,” and she replied that it was splendid. So it was. People were buying the most extraordinarily fleshly fare, the smelt of an ox, a rib of suet, a fillet of liver, and one little girl purchased nineteen lambs’ tongues, which she took away secretly in a portmanteau.
“Now Mrs. Squance, what can I do for you?” enquired the butcher. Without comment she handed him the egg of the bird. He cast it into the till as if it were a crown piece. “And the next thing, ma’am?”
“'Ave you got such a thing as a pistol, Mr. Verryspice?”
Mr. Verryspice had, he had got two, and drawing them from the belt wherefrom dangled his sharpener, he laid two remarkable pieces of ordnance before her. In her renewed agitation she would have snatched up one of the pistols, but Mr. Verryspice prevented her.
“No, no, ma’am, I shall have to get permission for you to use it first.”
“But I really must ’ave it immediate....”
“Yes?” said the butcher.
“ ... for my husband.”
“I see,” he replied sympathetically. “Well, come along then and I’ll get an interim permission at once.” Seizing a tall silk hat from its hook and placing it firmly upon his head he led her from his establishment.
“Singular that the trams are all so full this morning,” commented Mrs. Squance as they awaited a conveyance.