At this moment the greasy door is violently pushed inward, and a boy follows it, who says, after having let it slam:
“Come for the stuffed canary.”
“It’s three and ninepence,” returns Venus; “have you got the money?”
The boy produces four shillings. Mr. Venus, always in exceedingly low spirits and making whimpering sounds, peers about for the stuffed canary. On his taking the candle to assist his search, Mr. Wegg observes that he has a convenient little shelf near his knees, exclusively appropriated to skeleton hands, which have very much the appearance of wanting to lay hold of him. From these Mr. Venus rescues the canary in a glass case, and shows it to the boy.
“There!” he whimpers. “There’s animation! On a twig, making up his mind to hop! Take care of him; he’s a lovely specimen.—And three is four.”
The boy gathers up his change and has pulled the door open by a leather strap nailed to it for the purpose, when Venus cries out:
“Stop him! Come back, you young villain! You’ve got a tooth among them halfpence.”
“How was I to know I’d got it? You giv it me. I don’t want none of your teeth; I’ve got enough of my own.” So the boy pipes, as he selects it from his change, and throws it on the counter.
“Don’t sauce me , in the wicious pride of your youth,” Mr. Venus retorts pathetically. “Don’t hit me because you see I’m down. I’m low enough without that. It dropped into the till, I suppose. They drop into everything. There was two in the coffeepot at breakfast time. Molars.”