Mr. Nugent turned to a broken cane-chair which stood by the counter, and, after applying severe tests, regardless of the lady’s feelings, sat down upon it and gave a sigh of relief. “I’ve walked from London,” he said, in explanation. “I could sit here for hours.” “Look here——” began the indignant Miss Kybird. [Illustration: “What do you want?’ inquired Miss Kybird.”] “Only people would be sure to couple our names together,” continued Mr. Nugent, mournfully. “When a handsome young man and a good-looking girl——” “Do you want to buy anything or not?” demanded Miss Kybird, with an impatient toss of her head. “No,” said Jack, “I want to sell.” “You’ve come to the wrong shop, then,” said Miss Kybird; “the warehouse is full of rubbish now.” The other turned in his chair and looked hard at the window. “So it is,” he assented. “It’s a good job I’ve brought you something decent to put there.” He felt in his pockets and, producing a silver-mounted briar-pipe, a battered watch, a knife, and a few other small articles, deposited them with reverent care upon the counter. “No use to us,” declared Miss Kybird, anxious to hit back; “we burn coal here.” “These’ll burn better than the coal you buy,” said the unmoved customer. “Well, we don’t want them,” retorted Miss Kybird, raising her voice, “and I don’t want any of your impudence. Get up out of our chair.” Her heightened tones penetrated to the small and untidy room behind the shop. The door opened, and Mr. Kybird in his shirt-sleeves appeared at the opening. “Wot’s the row?” he demanded, his little black eyes glancing from one to the other. “Only a lovers’ quarrel,” replied Jack. “You go away; we don’t want you.” “Look ’ere, we don’t want none o’ your nonsense,” said the shopkeeper, sharply; “and, wot’s more, we won’t ’ave it. Who put that rubbish on my counter?” He bustled forward, and taking the articles in his hands examined them closely. “Three shillings for the lot—cash,” he remarked. “Done,” said the other. “Did I say three?” inquired Mr. Kybird, startled at this ready acceptance. “Five you said,” replied Mr. Nugent, “but I’ll take three, if you throw in a smile.” Mr. Kybird, much against his inclinations, threw in a faint grin, and opening a drawer produced three shillings and flung them separately on the counter. Miss Kybird thawed somewhat, and glancing from the customer’s clothes to his face saw that he had a pleasant eye and a good moustache, together with a general air of recklessness much appreciated by the sex. “Don’t spend it on drink,” she remarked, not unkindly. “I won’t,” said the other, solemnly; “I’m going to buy house property with it.” “Why, darn my eyes,” said Mr. Kybird, who had been regarding him closely; “darn my old eyes, if it ain’t young Nugent. Well, well!” “That’s me,” said young Nugent, cheerfully; “I should have known you anywhere, Kybird: same old face, same old voice, same old shirt-sleeves.”