running the risk of losing my train. At last they came out. They came nodding and wagging their heads as if whatever had transpired within had settled the question—White Whiskers, in particular, looked uncommonly satisfied with himself. They went away, round the corner into the Haymarket—and thereupon, with a desperate resolution generated by sheer curiosity, I boldly entered the coppersmith's establishment. Its proprietor, an uncomfortably canny-looking sort of person, elderly and spectacled, stood behind the counter; his keen eyes fell upon me at once with such shrewd inquiry that I felt decidedly embarrassed, and knew myself to be growing red about cheeks and ears.
"Oh, ah, er," I began lamely. "I—that is—have you any old articles in copper, you know—curiosities and that sort of thing—to sell?"
It seemed to me that he took an unconscionable time in replying. When he did reply, it was with a curt monosyllable.
"No!"
