“Anything else I can do for you, sir?” replied Jeremiah.—“You sell almost everything, I see, Mr Wag?” observed the old gentleman. “Mr Wag? Your name is Wag, I suppose?”—“Yes, sir,” replied the shopkeeper drily.
“Wag, Wag, Wag!” repeated the stranger, briskly. “Funny name! eh?”—“It was my father’s before me,” observed Jeremiah, scarcely knowing what to think of the matter.
“Very good name!” continued the little gentleman, “Like it very much. Got any children? Any little Wags, eh? Like to see ’em. Fond of children—little Wags in particular—he, he, he!”
“Much obliged to ye for inquiring, sir,” replied the senior Wag; “I’ve got just half-a-score, sorted sizes. That’s the eldest!” and he pointed to young Jerry, whose lanky limbs were at the moment displayed, spread-eagle fashion, against the shelves, from the topmost of which he was reaching down some commodity for a customer.
“That’s right. Bring ’em up to industry,” said the little gentleman. “Well, I can’t stay now, because my dinner’s ready; but I see you sell Irish linen, and I want a piece for shirts; so, perhaps, you’ll be so good as to look me out a good one and bring it over to me.”
“You may rely,” commenced Mr Wag; but his new customer cut him short by adding, “I know that well enough,” as he briskly made his exit.
The industrious shopkeeper forthwith selected certain of his primest articles, folded them in a wrapper, and, at the appointed time, carried the whole across to the King’s Arms.
He was immediately ushered into the presence of the eccentric elderly gentleman, who was seated alone behind a bottle of white and a bottle of red. “Suppose you’ve dined, Master Wag?” said he. “So, come! No ceremony, sit down and take a glass of wine.”
“I’m very much obliged to you, I’m sure, sir,” replied Jeremiah; “but I have just brought over half-a-dozen pieces of Irish for you to look at and choose.”
“Phoo, phoo!” quoth the small stranger, “I don’t want to see them. I know nothing about ’em. Leave all to you. Only meant to have had a piece; but, as you have brought half-a-dozen, I may as well take ’em. ‘Store’s no sore,’ they say. There’s a fifty-pound note! Reckon ’em up, and see if there’s any change.”