Off I went, and soon reached Queen Street, the principal thoroughfare of the town, which, to my great surprise, I found in semi-darkness, the only places lighted up being the hotels and tobacconists' shops.
"No chance of getting anything for supper here," I thought, as I turned up a street which I concluded must lead back to H—— Street. I had not proceeded more than three hundred yards when I espied to my great joy a small shop with a blaze of light in the window, above which shone forth the legend "Oyster Saloon." With quickened step I approached, and peering in, beheld a remarkably neatly dressed and pretty young lady standing behind a little counter, and apparently fully occupied in doing nothing. On the counter stood some pickle bottles filled with extremely unpleasing-looking objects resembling large white slugs, while a heap of oysters with curiously corrugated shells were piled in one corner.
Entering the establishment, I requested in polite terms to be informed the price of oysters.
"A bob a bottle!" replied the ministering angel behind the counter.
"A bob a bottle!" I repeated. "May I ask if that's colonial for a shilling a dozen?"
"Oh! I see you're a new chum!" responded the young lady, in tones of mild contempt. "Well, oysters ain't sold here by the dozen; they are sold by the bottle! There are about four or five dozen, I reckon, in one of these!" indicating the bottles on the counter, with their revolting-looking contents.
"But are those really good to eat?" I stammered.
"Try them!" she replied, spooning from a bottle about a dozen on to a plate, and pushing it, together with a fork and a pepper-box, before me.
Screwing up my courage, I got one into my mouth, another quickly followed, and in a remarkably short space of time the plate was emptied.
"Capital! By Jove! I could not have believed they would be so good!" I exclaimed. "They don't, you must confess, look very tempting in those bottles?"