"We haven't a farthing in the place," she said
innocently, "What else will you take for it?" "Oh, it doesn't matter
at all," I returned, anxious only to rush away from the spot--which I
did. It was a good quarter-of-an-hour before I gained the street.
During that interval, I strayed into the carpet department, upset an
old lady, fell sprawling over a chair, rushed into the arms of the
shopwalker, knocked down a huge stack of flannels, trod on some
unfortunate young fellow's corn, making him howl with pain, and last,
not least, ran foul of a perambulator laden with a baby and the usual
Saturday night's marketing in the doorway.
I entered that shop full of hope and promise; I left it a melancholy
man.
Though not quite so exciting as the foregoing, there is an intimate
connection between that incident and the one I shall now dwell upon.
Let me tell the tale as I told it to my wife. The other day I brought
home a neat little Japanese basket--a mere knick-knack, costing only
twopence. "Oh, how pretty!" exclaimed my wife. "Wherever did you get
this?" "I bought it at a large shop in Regent Street," I answered,
"but it cost me a great deal of trouble to get it." Pressed for
particulars, I continued:
"I was amusing myself by looking at the shops, when I saw a lot of
these little Japanese baskets in the corner of a large window,
plainly marked twopence each.
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