“That’s not good enough for me,” declared Mr. Muggridge. “I’ve wasted a whole morning upon you”--I’d been in the shop a bare quarter of an hour--“and time is money, if birds and animals ain’t. Besides, you hordered ’em.” He advanced threateningly, and I stepped forward with no less indignation; but as I did so, my arm knocked over a cage containing two long, black, red-beaked birds, which turned out to be Cornish choughs. These now uttered wild, west-country exclamations, flapped and fluttered and screamed, upset other cages in their downfall, and angered a badger (or some kindred brute) that dwelt beneath them in a box covered with corrugated iron wire. Then, while I gathered myself from the ruins, ill-luck cast me against a bowl of goldfish, a sea-water aquarium, the guinea-pigs, and a consignment of large green lizards that suddenly appeared, without visible cause, in the full possession of their liberty. These things fell in an avalanche, and Muggridge’s shop instantly resembled the dark scene that preludes a pantomime. It is not strange, therefore, when you consider what I had already been through, that I was among the first of the intelligent animals present to lose my nerve and my temper. Frankly I aimed a blow at Muggridge in an unchristian spirit, but missed him, and fetched down a case of birds’ eggs. Suspecting the emporium to be on fire, chance passers-by, always ready to thrust themselves into the misfortunes of other people, now rushed amongst us. A policeman entered also, and Mr. Muggridge, evidently disappointed to find his plans thus shattered and his scheme foiled, endeavoured to give me in charge. I explained the true position, however, or attempted to do so; but my self-respect deserted me. I raised my voice as Muggridge raised his; I even used language that will always be a sorrow to me in moments of retrospection. We raved each at the other and danced round the policeman, while goldfish flapped about our feet and green lizards tried to ascend our trouser-legs. The constable himself turned round and round, licking a pencil and trying to make notes in a little book. Presently I think he began to grow giddy and faint-hearted. At any rate, he realised the futility of working up an effective case, so he shut his book, showed anger, and took certain definite measures. First he swept a few promiscuous spectators out of the shop, then he thrust the infuriated Muggridge back behind his counter, and finally turned to me.