“I tell yer I don’t want only sixpennorth,” angrily returned the customer, as he entered.
At this establishment the portraits were taken in a little alley adjoining the premises, where the light was so insufficient, that even the blanket hung up at the end of it looked black from the deep shadows cast by the walls.
When the tanner’s portrait was completed it was nearly black; and, indeed, the only thing visible was a slight light on one side of the face, and which, doubtlessly, accounted for the short speech which the operator thought fit to make as he presented the likeness to his customer.
“There,” he said, “there is your likeness, if you like! look at it yourself; and only eightpence”—“Only sixpence,” observed the man.—“Ah!” continued the proprietor, “but you’ve got a patent American preserver, and that’s twopence more.”
Then followed a discussion, in which the artist insisted that he lost by every sixpenny portrait he took, and the tanner as strongly protesting that he couldn’t believe that, for they must get some profit any how. “You don’t tumble to the rig,” said the artist; “it’s the half-guinea ones, you see, that pays us.”
The touter, finding that this discussion was likely to continue, entered and joined the argument. “Why, it’s cheap as dirt,” he exclaimed indignantly; “the fact is, our governor’s a friend of the people, and don’t mind losing a little money. He’s determined that everybody shall have a portrait, from the highest to the lowest. Indeed, next Sunday, he do talk of taking them for threepence-ha’penny, and if that ain’t philandery, what is?”
After the touter’s oration the tanner seemed somewhat contented, and paying his eightpence left the shop, looking at his picture in all lights, and repeatedly polishing it up with the cuff of his coat-sleeve, as if he were trying to brighten it into something like distinctness.
Whilst I was in this establishment a customer was induced to pay twopence for having the theory of photography explained to him. The lecture was to the effect, that the brass tube of the “camerer” was filled with clock-work, which carried the image from the lens to the ground glass at the back. To give what the lecturer called “hockeylar proof” of this, the camera was carried to the shop-door, and a boy who was passing by ordered to stand still for a minute.
“Now, then,” continued the lecturer to the knowledge-seeker, “look behind here; there’s the himage, you see;” and then addressing the boy, he added, “Just open your mouth, youngster;” and when the lad did so, the student was asked, “Are you looking down the young un’s throat?” and on his nodding assent, he was informed, “Well, that’s the way portraits is took.”