He turned aside with a gesture of grief and opened the door for Nell and the Atom to pass through.
Outside: "Oh, Nell," cried Molly, "what are you laughing at? Oh! and there are one—two—three heads looking out of the door after us!"
They were more successful in the next shop. In a few minutes the shop-walker and three assistants were laughingly crawling about searching for broken toys. Kate Kearney helped too, and demolished a ball in the process.
But the big success of the afternoon was the fourpence halfpenny shop. They were enthralled. Shining pots and pans, gorgeous picture frames, still more gorgeous pictures, vases, tea-pots, and toys, and all for four-pence halfpenny each! What was fourpence halfpenny? Nothing. Joyously they marched in. The tubby little woman who came forward to serve them was delightful, too. When she nodded her head, the bobby little grey curls at the sides of her face nodded too.
Nell said: "Oh, what a lovely shop! Isn't anything more than fourpence halfpenny?"
"No, dearie, that is, miss, all the same price. Twenty-four year 'ave me and Jelks kep' this shop. We find toys and kitching utensils sell best. That doll now is good valley for your money, miss. Will your dog do any damage, sir? Oh," as Kate Kearney lay down at Denis's command, "what a good-beyaved little man! I must fetch 'im a biscuit while you're looking round like."
The O'Briens were hilarious.
Fourpence halfpenny! They had decided that they must only spend two or three shillings more; but two or three shillings was untold wealth in a fourpenny halfpenny shop. No need to be careful now. Gaily they chose dolls, horses and carts, trumpets, Noah's arks filled with weird and wondrous animals that Noah himself would never have recognised. Then a customer came in. He was a small and puny customer, but he marched into the shop with an air of grave importance before which his ragged clothes seemed to fade into an abashed oblivion. Denis flung his hat away, and came forward, rubbing his hands together in true professional style.
"And what can I do for you, sir? Toys? Pots? Pans? Brushes?"
"Ain't Mrs. Jelks in?" gasped the urchin; "'ere, none o' that," recovering with Cockney speed. "You're a gent, you are."