Adoptive parents -- Fiction; Christmas stories; Deaf children -- Fiction; Short stories, English
For look here! Say it's election time. I am on the footboard of my cart
in the market-place, on a Saturday night. I put up a general
miscellaneous lot. I say: "Now here, my free and independent woters, I'm
a going to give you such a chance as you never had in all your born days,
nor yet the days preceding. Now I'll show you what I am a going to do
with you. Here's a pair of razors that'll shave you closer than the
Board of Guardians; here's a flat-iron worth its weight in gold; here's a
frying-pan artificially flavoured with essence of beefsteaks to that
degree that you've only got for the rest of your lives to fry bread and
dripping in it and there you are replete with animal food; here's a
genuine chronometer watch in such a solid silver case that you may knock
at the door with it when you come home late from a social meeting, and
rouse your wife and family, and save up your knocker for the postman; and
here's half-a-dozen dinner plates that you may play the cymbals with to
charm baby when it's fractious. Stop! I'll throw in another article,
and I'll give you that, and it's a rolling-pin; and if the baby can only
get it well into its mouth when its teeth is coming and rub the gums once
with it, they'll come through double, in a fit of laughter equal to being
tickled. Stop again! I'll throw you in another article, because I don't
like the looks of you, for you haven't the appearance of buyers unless I
lose by you, and because I'd rather lose than not take money to-night,
and that's a looking-glass in which you may see how ugly you look when
you don't bid. What do you say now? Come! Do you say a pound? Not
you, for you haven't got it. Do you say ten shillings? Not you, for you
owe more to the tallyman. Well then, I'll tell you what I'll do with
you. I'll heap 'em all on the footboard of the cart,--there they are!
razors, flat watch, dinner plates, rolling-pin, and away for four
shillings, and I'll give you sixpence for your trouble!" This is me, the
Cheap Jack. But on the Monday morning, in the same market-place, comes
the Dear Jack on the hustings--_his_ cart--and, what does _he_ say? "Now
my free and independent woters, I am a going to give you such a chance"
(he begins just like me) "as you never had in all your born days, and
that's the chance of sending Myself to Parliament. Now I'll tell you
what I am a going to do for you. Here's the interests of this
magnificent town promoted above all the rest of the civilised and
uncivilised earth. Here's your railways carried, and your neighbours'
railways jockeyed. Here's all your sons in the Post-office. Here's
Britannia smiling on you. Here's the eyes of Europe on you. Here's
uniwersal prosperity for you, repletion of animal food, golden
cornfields, gladsome homesteads, and rounds of applause from your own
hearts, all in one lot, and that's myself. Will you take me as I stand?
You won't? Well, then, I'll tell you what I'll do with you. Come now!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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