Dicky had gone on an errand, and Mr Grinder was at the shop door, when there appeared before him a whiskered and smirking¹ figure, with a quick glance each way along the street, and a long and smiling one at the oil-man's necktie.  
'Good mornin', Mr Grinder, good mornin' sir.' Mr Weech stroked his left palm with his right fist and nodded pleasantly. 'I'm in business meself, over in Meakin Street—name of Weech: p'r'aps you know the shop? I—I jist 'opped over to ask'—Grinder led the way into the shop—'to ask (so's to make things quite sure y'know, though no doubt it's all right) to ask if it's correct you're awfferin' brass² roastin'-jacks at a shillin' each.'
 
'Brass roastin'-jacks at a shillin'?' exclaimed Grinder, shocked at the notion. 'Why, no!'
 
Mr Weech appeared mildly surprised. 'Nor yut seven-poun' jars o' jam an' pickles³ at sixpence?' he pursued, with his eye on those ranged behind the counter.
 
'No!'
 
'Nor doormats at fourpence?'
 
'Fourpence? Cert'nly not!'
 
Mr Weech's face fell into a blank perplexity. He pawed his ear with a doubtful air, murmuring absently:—'Well I'm sure 'e said fourpence: an' sixpence for pickles, an' bring 'em round after the shop was shut. But there', he added, more briskly, 'there's no 'arm done, an' no doubt it's a mistake.' He turned as though to leave, but Grinder restrained him.
 
'But look 'ere,' he said, 'I want to know about this. Wotjer mean? 'Oo was goin' to bring round pickles after the shop was shut? 'Oo said fourpence for doormats?'
 
'Oh, I expect it's jest a little mistake, that's all,' answered Weech, making another motion toward the door; 'an' I don't want to git nobody into trouble.'
 
'Trouble? Nice trouble I'd be in if I sold brass smoke-jacks for a bob! There's somethink 'ere as I ought to know about. Tell me about it straight.'
 
Weech looked thoughtfully at the oil-man's top waistcoat button for a few seconds, and then said:—'Yus, p'raps I better. I can feel for you, Mr Grinder, 'avin' a feelin' 'art, an' bein' in business meself. Where's your boy?'
 
'Gawn out.'
 
'Comin' back soon?'
 
'Not yut. Come in the back-parlour.'
 
There Mr Weech, with ingenuous⁴ reluctance⁵, assured Mr Grinder that Dicky Perrott had importuned⁶ him to buy the goods in question at the prices he had mentioned, together with others—readily named now that the oil-man swallowed so freely—and that they were t............