The Argosy — page 341: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

316 AN OLD BIRD. | Be the streets near Leicester Square there are many such shops as Mr. Birch’s. To the unaccustomed eye, and contrasted with the neat and tasteful arrangements of West-end shops, all is chaos here—bed-chairs, and sofas, tables, dim looking pictures, and cracked china vases are heaped together in gloomyconfusion. The things— many of them look worthless—one wonders where the people exist who would buy them, and how Mr. Birch contrives to live. Look at that dirty stuffed parrot now! Once, perchance, it was clean and pro- tected by a glass case—now it rests on a broken stand, leaning help- lessly against the foot of a mahogany towel-horse, which piece of furniture has the dismal appearance of having discovered that “all is vanity.” | Mr. Birch himself—a small, withered-looking man, who might well be supposed to have been accustomed never to see the fresh ‘ first ” of anything—advanced to the narrow opening his goods allowed him, and stood at the door one drizzly November morning. He watched the busy and anxious passengers with a dry, impassible gaze, until one paused and looked into his shop. This looker-in was an unmistakable Jew; and Mr. Birch had one strong feeling—namely, aversion to Jews. ‘“* How mosh ish that old bird?” inquired the possible customer. The dealer turned slowly round to look at the aged parrot ; then replied “‘ Five shillings.” » ‘Five shillin’!” cried the Jew incredulously. ‘‘ You most mean five pence !” ‘‘ | mean what I say—but you’ve no call to buy it,” and Mr. Birch put his hands in his pockets, and stared across the road. The Jew shook his head and passed on. Presently there came by a young carpenter with a bright and genial face. The foggy air seemed clearer for his lively whistling, and Mr. Birch almost returned the smile with which this young man nodded, ‘Good morning,” as was his daily custom. For three days the Jew came and looked in at the old parrot. In spite of the chilling character of his reception, each day he offered a irifle for the bird, and the third day raised his bid to four-and-six- pence. No persuasions would move Mr. Birch, and when the Jew went away, as usual there came by the young carpenter, just as the dealer had lifted the parrot down from its leaning place. “That’s a queer bird!” said Joe, stopping at the door. “It’s not showy, governor !” “No, but you shall have it cheap, if you want it.” Gomichboo