“What is it, Uncle? Customers?”
“Ay,” returned Solomon, with a sigh. “Customers would do.”
“Confound it, Uncle!” said Walter, putting down his breakfast cup with a clatter, and striking his hand on the table: “when I see the people going up and down the street in shoals all day, and passing and re-passing the shop every minute, by scores, I feel half tempted to rush out, collar somebody, bring him in, and make him buy fifty pounds’ worth of instruments for ready money. What are you looking in at the door for?—” continued Walter, apostrophizing an old gentleman with a powdered head (inaudibly to him of course), who was staring at a ship’s telescope with all his might and main. “That’s no use. I could do that. Come in and buy it!”
The old gentleman, however, having satiated his curiosity, walked calmly away.
“There he goes!” said Walter. “That’s the way with ’em all. But, Uncle—I say, Uncle Sol”—for the old man was meditating and had not responded to his first appeal. “Don’t be cast down. Don’t be out of spirits, Uncle. When orders do come, they’ll come in such a crowd, you won’t be able to execute ’em.”
“I shall be past executing ’em, whenever they come, my boy,” returned Solomon Gills. “They’ll never come to this shop again, till I am out of t.”
“I say, Uncle! You musn’t really, you know!” urged Walter. “Don’t!”
Old Sol endeavoured to assume a cheery look, and smiled across the little table at him as pleasantly as he could.
“There’s nothing more than usual the matter; is there, Uncle?” said Walter, leaning his elbows on the tea tray, and bending over, to speak the more confidentially and kindly. “Be open with me, Uncle, if there is, and tell me all about it.”
“No, no, no,” returned Old Sol. “More than usual? No, no. What should there be the matter more than usual?”