“Ah! they will go down; and I’ve got a lion-monkey, and while you _are_ buying animals, I strongly advise you to have it. Not another in England to my knowledge. To be honest, he’s not very well, but the hair will come again with kindness and my mange lotion. Peaceful as a lamb, too. I wish I could send them, but I’m run off my legs just now. Never remember such a rush or such competition. So if you’ll let me suggest, you’ll take your little lot right away with you. My cages are specially commended at the Crystal Palace and elsewhere, and I have a few left by me still. I suppose you couldn’t do with a water-snake or two? Yes? Here, Sam! Come down here. A large horder!” He shouted to a boy, who appeared and began putting strange beasts and reptiles into cages with lightning rapidity, while I stood and watched--a man gripped, tranced, turned to stone by the deadly incubus of a dream. All the time Mr. Muggridge chattered like the lid of a kettle on the boil, put up horrid-looking foreign birds in cashes, fastened a string to a poodle, and incarcerated various other specimens of tropical or sub-tropical fauna that he wanted to be rid of. Then he made out an account, pressed it into my hand, rushed to the door, and whistled for a four-wheeler. “You’re a ready-money gen’leman like me. Seen it in your eye the minute you come into my shop,” said Muggridge. “Twenty guineas and my book, on the _Insect Pests of Household Pets_, thrown in.” I rallied myself here--in the last ditch, so to speak; I made my effort, and while the horrible boy was converting a four-wheeler into a menagerie of screaming, snapping curiosities, I explained to Muggridge that I only had five pounds upon me. He put out his hand, and said something about a cheque for the balance, but, seeing my advantage, I declared that I had ordered nothing beyond the four guinea-pigs, needed nothing else, and should pay for nothing else. Then he asserted that I might have the lot for ten pounds, as it was a pity to take them out of the cab again. Still I refused, and he tried to get sentiment into the argument. He said, “It’s a reg’lar ’appy family. I should ’most call it cruelty to animals to separate them things again.” But I was firm, and he became desperate. He said: “Gimme the fiver, then, and clear out. It’s robbery--that’s what it is, an’ I’m sure the beasts won’t do you no good. But gimme the money, an’ I’ll fling in a tortoise to show there’s no ill-feeling, if you’ll go at once.” I said, “Listen to me; I do not want your tortoise. I’m a married man, with two grown-up daughters. We all detest wild animals of every sort, especially tortoises. I shall send your guinea-pigs to a children’s hospital, where they may or may not be welcomed. For the rest of these creatures I have no earthly use, and I refuse to take them a yard.”