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.
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