“Well, yes, I ought to have mentioned her in the same breath with yourself, Enoch, for she has been kind—very kind and patient. Now, I want to know if that snake has come.”
“Are you sure you’ve recovered enough to attend to business?” asked the brother.
“Yes, quite sure. Besides, a snake is not business—it is pleasure. I mean to send it to my old friend Balls, who has been long anxious to get a specimen. I had asked a friend long ago to procure one for me, and now that it has come I want you to pack it to go by post.”
“By post!” echoed the brother.
“Yes, why not?”
“Because I fear that live snakes are prohibited articles.”
“Get the Post-Office Directory and see for yourself,” said the invalid.
The enormous volume, full six inches thick, which records the abodes and places of business of all noteworthy Londoners, was fetched.
“Nothing about snakes here,” said Enoch, running his eye over the paragraph referring to the articles in question,—“‘Glass bottles, leeches, game, fish,’ (but that refers to dead ones, I suppose) ‘flesh, fruit, vegetables, or other perishable substances’ (a snake ain’t perishable, at least not during a brief post-journey)—‘nor any bladder or other vessel containing liquid,’ (ha! that touches him: a snake contains blood, don’t it?)—‘or anything whatsoever which might by pressure or otherwise be rendered injurious to the contents of the mail-bags or to the officers of the Post-Office.’—Well, brother,” continued Enoch, “I’m not quite sure that it comes within the forbidden degrees, so we’ll give it the benefit of the doubt and pack it. How d’you propose doing it up? In a letter?”
“No, I had a box made for it before I was taken ill. You’ll find it in the shop, on the upper shelf, beside the northern diver.”