“You try a pair o’ them Hangoras, and a pair o’ them tortoiseshells,” he said, “and before you can look round you’ll be breedin’ guinea-pigs as’ll take prizes all over Europe—pedigree pigs, pigs with a world-wide reputation!”
“Very well, two pairs,” I answered, “since you wish it.”
And then I observed that Muggridge was thinking very hard. I fancy he realised that the opportunity of a lifetime lay before him.
“Yes,” he said suddenly, answering his own reflections, “to a gentleman like you, I will part with it, though it’s dead against the grain. But you ought to have it—my last mongoose—a lady’s pet—a little hangel in the ’ouse! Five guineas!”
“There’s a large brown horse fallen down in the next street; that’s what I’m here for,” I cried aloud, ignoring the mongoose.
“Ah! they will go down; and I’ve got a lion-monkey, and while you are buying animals, I strongly advise you to have it. Not another in England to my knowledge. To be honest, he’s not very well, but the hair will come again with kindness and my mange lotion. Peaceful as a lamb, too. I wish I could send them, but I’m run off my legs just now. Never remember such a rush or such competition. So if you’ll let me suggest, you’ll take your little lot right away with you. My cages are specially commended at the Crystal Palace and elsewhere, and I have a few left by me still. I suppose you couldn’t do with a water-snake or two? Yes? Here, Sam! Come down here. A large horder!”
He shouted to a boy, who appeared and began putting strange beasts and reptiles into cages with lightning rapidity, while I stood and watched—a man gripped, tranced, turned to stone by the deadly incubus of a dream. All the time Mr. Muggridge chattered like the lid of a kettle on the boil, put up horrid-looking foreign birds in cashes, fastened a string to a poodle, and incarcerated various other specimens of tropical or sub-tropical fauna that he wanted to be rid of. Then he made out an account, pressed it into my hand, rushed to the door, and whistled for a four-wheeler.
“You’re a ready-money gen’leman like me. Seen it in your eye the minute you come into my shop,” said Muggridge. “Twenty guineas and my book, on the Insect Pests of Household Pets, thrown in.”
I rallied myself here—in the last ditch, so to speak; I made my effort, and while the horrible boy was converting a four-wheeler into a menagerie of screaming, snapping curiosities, I explained to Muggridge that I only had five pounds upon me. He put out his hand, and said something about a cheque for the balance, but, seeing my advantage, I declared that I had ordered nothing beyond the four guinea-pigs, needed nothing else, and should pay for nothing else.
Then he asserted that I might have the lot for ten pounds, as it was a pity to take them out of the cab again.