“By Jenkins, the long arm again! Why, only last week at Burton-on-Trent I used a packet of Fuller’s squibs for the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. But I had to give it up. Yes, I found it frightened the women and children too much. They were so shook by the effect that when the moon rose behind the Alhambra they thought that was going off with a bang and started screaming again, so the fandango went rotten.”
“It certainly did,” the Sisters Garibaldi agreed in a huffy chorus.
“Coming back to my name,” said Mr. Blundell. “What do you think my second name is? I’ll give you a sovereign if you can guess it in three. That offer’s on tap to any stranger with who I have the pleasure of a heart to heart. Give it up? I thought you would. Ursula!”
“But that’s a girl’s name, isn’t it?” Bram said in astonishment.
“Of course it is. But my dear old mother got it into her head that it was a boy’s name. The parson argued with her. The sexton argued. The godfathers and godmothers argued. The only one that didn’t argue was my poor old dad, who knew better. So, Ursula I was christened, by thunder. Unwin Ursula Blundell.”
The confidential manner of the showman invited confidence in return, and before the train had puffed out of more than two of the stations between Brigham and Liverpool he was in possession of Bram’s history.
“So you’re thinking of going to sea? It’s a hard life, my young friend. Can’t you think of a better way of earning a living than rolling down to Rio? What about the boards?”
Bram looked puzzled.
“The stage. The profession. Tragedy! Drama! Comedy! Farce!”
“Well, I’d like to be an actor,” said Bram eagerly. “But could I act? My grandmater said I was a jolly good mimic.”