Mr Rollitt, whose profession sharpened his observation for specimens of bygone achievements in his own line of business, noted the venerable exterior before him with admiration.
“That there bit of bricks and mortar,” said he, “warn’t built yesterday.”
“Oh, it’s millions of years old,” said Wally; “but our shop, you know, has only just been started.”
“They don’t make copin’s like them to-day,” repeated Mr Rollitt.
“We go in for good grub cheap,” said Percy; “no shoe-leather, like Bob used to sell.”
“I reckon them top courses is a hundred year after this here bottom part. Not much jerry there neither.”
“We boss it among us, you know,” said Wally, “and take turns to serve. We don’t get a bad profit either.”
Here they were joined by the rest of the party. But to their disappointment Mr Rollitt’s interest in the shop was small compared with that he showed in the lay of the bricks, the run of the beams, and the hardness of the mortar.
“They knowed their way about, straight, those days,” said he, picking away between two of the bricks with his nail.
“Try one of our ‘Rollitt’s particular,’” pleaded D’Arcy, in the hope that this invitation at least would interest him.