Postal service -- Great Britain -- Juvenile fiction
He thrust the one-eyed pheasant into the customer's bosom with such
vigour that, fearing a personal assault, she retreated to the door.
There she came to a full stop, turned about, raised her right hand
savagely, exclaimed "You're another!" let her fingers go off with the
force of a pea-cracker, and, stumbling into the street, went her devious
way.
CHAPTER TEN.
A MYSTERY CLEARED UP.
When night had fairly hung its sable curtains over the great city, Mr
Blurt descended to the shop.
"Now, Mr Aspel, I'll relieve you. The lady you sent up, Miss
Lillycrop, is, it seems, an old friend of my brother, and she insists on
acting the part of nurse to-night. I am all the better pleased, because
I have business to attend to at the other end of the town. We will
therefore close the shop, and you can go home. By the _way_, have you a
home?"
"O yes," said Aspel, with a laugh. "A poor enough one truly, off the
Strand."
"Indeed?--that reminds me: we always pay salaries in advance in this
office. Here is a sovereign to account of your first quarter. We can
settle the amount afterwards."
Aspel accepted the coin with a not particularly good grace.
"Now then, you had better--ha--excuse me--put up the shutters."
Instantly the youth pulled out the sovereign and laid it on the counter.
"No, sir," he said firmly; "I am willing to aid you in your
difficulties, but I am not willing to become a mere shop-boy--at least
not while there is man's work to be had."
Mr Blurt looked perplexed. "What are we to do?" he asked.
"Hire a little boy," said Aspel.
"But there are no little boys about," he said, looking out into the
street, where the wind was sending clouds of dust and bits of straw and
paper into the air. "I would do it myself, but have not time; I'm late
as it is. Ah! I have it--Mrs Murridge!"
Calling the faithful domestic, he asked if she knew how to put up the
shutters, and would do it. She was quite willing, and set about it at
once, while Mr Blurt nodded good-night, and went away.
With very uncomfortable feelings George Aspel stood in the shop, his
tall figure drawn up, his arms crossed on his broad breast, and his
finely formed head bent slightly down as he sternly watched the
operation.
Mrs Murridge was a resolute woman. She put up most of the shutters
promptly in spite of the high wind, but just as she was fixing the last
of them a blast caught it and almost swept it from her grasp. For two
seconds there was a tough struggle between Boreas and the old woman.
Gallantry forbade further inaction. Aspel rushed out just in time to
catch Mrs Murridge and the shutter in his strong arms as they were
about to be swept into the kennel. He could do no more, however, than
hold them there, the wind being too much even for him. While in this
extremity he received timely aid from some one, whom the indistinct
light revealed as a broad-shouldered little fellow in a grey uniform.
With his assistance the shutter was affixed and secured.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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