"Th' ould man was up to Plymouth wan day 'bout some shares he'd a-tuk in a tradin' schooner; for he'd a finger in most pies. Nuthin' i' the way o' bus'ness comed amiss to'n. Like Nicholas Kemp, he'd occashun for all." "Who was Nicholas Kemp?" inquired Mr. Fogo. "On'y a figger o' speech, sir. Well, ould Mennear had a-done bus'ness, an' was strollin' up Union Street 'long wi' his missus-- Aunt Deb'rah Mennear, as her name was--a fine, bowerly woman, but a bit ha'f-baked in her wits; put in wi' the bread, as they say, an' tuk out wi' the cakes--when he fetches up 'pon a sudden afore a shop-windey. There was crutches inside, an' jury-legs fash'ned out o' cork, an' plaster heads drawn out in maps wi' county-towns marked in, an' bumps to show why diff'rent folks broke diff'rent Commandments, an' rows o' teeth a-grizzlin', an' blue spectacles, an' splints enough to camp-shed a thirty-acred field, an' ear-trumpets an' malignant growths--" "Malignant growths?" "Iss, sir--in speerits o' wine. But what tuk th' ould man's notice were a trayful o' glass eyes put out for sale i' the windey, an' lookin' so nat'ral as life--blue eyes, brown eyes, eyes as black as a sloan, [4] an' others, they told me, as went diff'rent colours 'cordin' as you looked at mun. Anyway, ould Mennear pulled up short an' clinched Deb'rah by the elbow. "'Like onto the fishpools in Heshbon!' says he; an' wi' that he bounses into the shop. "'How much for them eyes?' he axes. "'Do 'ee want the lot?' says the chap in the shop, a reg'lar little dandy-sprat, an' so pert as a jay-pie in June. ''Cos us makes a reducshun on takin' a quantity,' says he. "'Wan'll do for me,' says Lawyer Mennear. "'They be two pund-ten apiece,' says the whipper-snapper, 'an' ten shillin' for fixin'.' "Well, sir, you may fancy th' ould man's face when he heerd the price. He sot down, like as ef the wind was tuk out of hes sails, an' says he--'I'll gie thirty shillin.' "The shopman wudn' ha' this; so at et they went, higglin' an' hagglin' on til 'twas agreed at las' he shud ha' the eye for two pund-five, fixin's included. 'Twas like drawin' blood from a stone; but th' ould man had done a stroke of bus'ness that day, so in th' end he pulls out hes bag an' tells out the money 'pon the counter. "'An' now,' says the whipper-snapper, 'which'll 'ee ha'? Grey's the colour, I reckons, ef you wants a match.' "'Drat the colour!' says ould Mennear, 'I've a-paid my price, an' I'll ha' the biggest, ef et be bassomy-red.' [5]