City and town life -- Fiction; Urban poor -- Fiction
Here and there he would pin a newspaper before the cage of a
newly-captured finch, fighting hard to escape by breaking its prison
bars, beating its soft round bosom bare of feathers against the cruel
wires, but with a fair prospect before it of finding relief for its
restless spirit, if not for its body, and flight--where?
Then there were the "tarriers" to look after, some of which justified
their name by not finding customers.
Here D. Wragg seemed quite at home, looking, as he stooped and tightened
a chain or shortened a string, much like one of the breed Darwinised,
and in a state of transition.
D. Wragg's ministrations were needed, for since the shop had been left
by Janet to his care, there had been sundry vicious commotions amongst
the dogs. One slight skirmish had ended in a spaniel having an ear made
more fringe-like in character. Then the restless little animals had
executed a _gavotte_ upon their hind-legs, maybe a waltz, ending in a
general tangle, and an Old Bailey performance, caused by the twisting
together of string and chain into a Gordian knot, which puzzled D. Wragg
into using a knife for sword in its solution--the dogs the while lying
panting, with protruding eyes, and a general aspect of being at the last
gasp.
At last, though, the canine fancy were reduced to order, so far as was
possible; for chained-up dogs are always moved by a restless spirit to
reach something a few inches beyond their nose--canine examples, indeed,
of human discontent; and if small and restless of breed, hang themselves
upon an average about twelve times _per diem_--possibly without suicidal
intent, though, from their miserable state, one cannot avoid suspicion.
D. Wragg had growled almost as much as his dogs in reducing them to
order; but he turned at last to go over other portions of his stock,
pinching protruded rats' tails to make them lively; thrusting a hand
down the stocking nailed over the hole in the top of the sparrow-cage,
and taking out one panting black-cravatted cock-bird from amongst his
scores of fellows, to find it naked of breast, with its heavy eyes
half-closed, dying fast, and so escaping the sportive shot of the
skilled marksman in some sweepstake--"so many birds each, shot from the
trap."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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