Meanwhile Mr Enoch Blurt sat in his brother’s back shop entertaining a visitor. The shop itself had, for a considerable time past, been put under the care of an overgrown boy, who might—by courtesy and a powerful stretch of truth—have been styled a young man.
Jiggs—he appeared to have no other name—was simply what men style a born idiot: not sufficiently so to be eligible for an asylum, but far enough gone to be next to useless. Mr Blurt had picked him up somewhere, in a philanthropic way—no one ever knew how or where—during one of his many searches after George Aspel. Poor Mr Blurt was not happy in his selection of men or boys. Four of the latter whom he had engaged to attend the shop and learn the business had been dismissed for rough play with the specimens, or making free with the till when a few coppers chanced to be in it. They had failed, also, to learn the business; chiefly because there was no business to learn, and Mr Enoch Blurt did not know how to teach it. When he came in contact with Jiggs, Mr Blurt believed he had at last secured a prize, and confided that belief to Mrs Murridge. So he had, as regards honesty. Jiggs was honest to the core; but as to other matters he was defective—to say the least. He could, however, put up and take down the shutters, call Mr Blurt down-stairs if wanted—which he never was; and tell customers, when he was out, to call again—which he never did, as customers never darkened the door. Jiggs, however, formed a sufficient scarecrow to street boys and thieves.
The visitor in the back shop—to whom we now return—was no less a personage than Miss Gentle, whose acquaintance Mr Blurt had made on board the ill-fated mail steamer Trident. That lady had chanced, some weeks before, to pass the ornithological shop, and, looking in, was struck dumb by the sight of the never-forgotten fellow-passenger who had made her a confidant. Recovering speech, she entered the shop and introduced herself. The introduction was needless. Mr Blurt recognised her at once, dropped his paper, extended both hands, gave her a welcome that brought even Jiggs back to the verge of sanity, and had her into the back shop, whence he expelled Mrs Murridge to some other and little-known region of the interior.
The interview was so agreeable that Mr Blurt begged it might be repeated. It was repeated four times. The fifth time it was repeated by special arrangement in the evening, for the purpose of talking over a business matter.
“I fear, Miss Gentle,” began Mr Blurt, when his visitor was seated in the back shop, and Mrs Murridge had been expelled to the rear as usual, and Jiggs had been left on guard in the front—“I fear that you may think it rude in me to make such a proposal, but I am driven to it by necessity, and—the fact is, I want you to become a nurse.”
“A nurse, Mr Blurt!”
“There, now, don’t take offence. It’s below your position, I dare say, but I have gathered from you that your circumstances are not—are not—not exactly luxurious, and,—in short, my poor brother Fred is a hopeless invalid. The doctors say he will never be able to leave his bed. Ah! if those diamonds I once spoke to you about had only been mine still, instead of adorning the caves of crabs and fishes, Miss Gentle, I would have had half-a-dozen of the best nurses in London for dear Fred. But the diamonds are gone! I am a poor man, a very poor man, Miss Gentle, and I cannot afford a good nurse. At the same time, I cannot bear to think of Fred being, even for a brief period, at the mercy of cheap nurses, who, like other wares, are bad when cheap—although, of course, there may be a few good ones even among the cheap. What I cannot buy, therefore, I must beg; and I have come to you, as one with a gentle and pitiful spirit, who may, perhaps, take an interest in my poor brother’s case, and agree to help us.”
Having said all this very fast, and with an expression of eager anxiety, Mr Blurt blew his nose, wiped his bald forehead, and, laying both hands on his knees, looked earnestly into his visitor’s face.
“You are wrong, Mr Blurt, in saying that the office of nurse is below my position. It is below the position of no one in the land. I may not be very competent to fill the office, but I am quite willing to try.”
“My dear madam,” exclaimed the delighted Mr Blurt, “your goodness is—but I expected as much. I knew you would. Of course,” he said, interrupting himself, “all the menial work will be done by Mrs Murridge. You will be only required to fill, as it were, the part of a daughter—or—or a sister—to my poor Fred. As to salary: it will be small, very small, I fear; but there are a couple of nice rooms in the house, which will be entirely at your—”