CHAPTER XXIX.—HINTS ON POLISHING HORN, BONE, SHELLS, STONES, ETC.
By Gordon Stables, C.M., M.D., R.N.
He was a mean-looking man, to say the least of it. Even the coat he wore was a mile too big for him, albeit some time in the far-distant past it might have graced the shoulders of a country squire. Yes, he was decidedly mean-looking, nor did his character, as it came out, belie his appearance.
He shuffled when he walked and he snuffled when he talked, and was altogether unwholesome and undesirable. He and I were the only two—ahem!—gentlemen that stood on the little railway platform of B—— on a cold November morning, waiting for a late train that only stopped by signal.
Having been three or four times round the Cape and twice in the Polar regions, I dare say I look simple. Anyhow, it wasn’t long ere this mean-looking man addressed me.
‘Begging yer parding, sir,’ he said, ‘but could ye spare a trifle to a pore man wot’s got a starving wife and five babs dependin’ on ’im for a lively’ood. Maybe, sir, you’d buy these ’ere ’orns. I seed yer was a lookin’ at ’em, and I seed ye were a gent, sir, soon’s ever I clapped eyes on yer.’
He carried three nicely polished sets of ox-horns in his arms—a large, a medium, and a small.
‘They are very nice indeed,’ I said. ‘Are they attached to the skull?’
‘Oh dear, yes, sir,’ he said; ‘a piece of the skull were a-sawed out for the sake o’ the lovely ’orns, sir.’
‘And where might they come from?’ I asked; ‘and what might be their value?’
‘They belongs to the wild buffalo of the plains of Arfriker, sir. My nevey brought ’em ’ome. Been refused fifteen pound for ’em. You shall ’ave ’em for five, sir, ’cause I can see yer a gent. If I can’t sell ’em, sir, they’ll ’ave to be broke for combs, and that would be a peety, sir, them bootiful harticles, quite a hornament for any gentleman’s ’all like yourn.’