“Pay for the Wallypug then and I’ll let you in free,” said the little man insinuatingly.
“I shall do nothing of the sort,” I cried, pushing past him and hurrying up the stairs.
To my surprise I found my rooms occupied by strangers. Sergeant One-and-Nine was reciting some of the Rhymester’s poems in the dining room to three deaf old ladies, two of whom had ear trumpets, while A. Fish, Esq., was holding a kind of levée in my study, seated in a chair placed on the writing table, and was surrounded by an admiring crowd of people who were asking all sorts of questions.
Mrs. Putchy met me at the door.
“Oh, sir!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad you’ve come home. I haven’t known what to do with all these people.”
“But what does it all mean, Putchy?” I inquired. “What are they doing here at all?”
“Why, you see, sir!” said Mrs. Putchy, “Mr. Doctor-in-Law found that A. Fish, Esq., was attracting a good deal of attention out of doors, and he thought that it would be a capital idea to have a kind of show here and charge sixpence admission to see him; and if there’s been one, I’m sure there’s been a hundred people up here this afternoon. The remarks they’ve been making too, and the questions they’ve been asking. Why, one old lady, sir, wanted to know how much you paid A. Fish, Esq., a week, and if I was quite sure that you gave him enough to eat. They’ve broken three chairs too, and that little Venetian glass vase that stood on the bracket in the corner. And just now I caught some little boys tearing pictures out of one of those illustrated books you brought home last week.”
Here was a pretty state of affairs. The strangers had by this time left A. Fish, Esq., and had collected around the poor Wallypug, who had been waiting in his wet clothing in the hall, and I was obliged to politely but firmly insist upon them at once leaving the house, telling them that their money would be returned at the door.
“I should think so, indeed,” said one angry-looking stout lady. “Why, the whole thing is a fraud and you ought to be thoroughly ashamed of yourself. Talking fish indeed! I don’t believe he’s a fish at all—at any rate, not what I call a ‘fish,’” and she flounced down the stairs only to return a moment or two afterwards to say, “I thought you said that we were to have our money back.”
“So you are, madam,” I replied.