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Updated: June 28, 2025
Dogs also favoured him with a passing glance, and one or two, with sporting tendencies, seemed about to point at the game inside, but thought better of it, and went off. At intervals the patient man called Mrs Murridge to mind the shop, while he went up-stairs. Sometimes he found the invalid dozing, sometimes fretting at the thoughts of the confusion about his letters.
When he came in contact with Jiggs, Mr Blurt believed he had at last secured a prize, and confided that belief to Mrs Murridge. So he had, as regards honesty. Jiggs was honest to the core; but as to other matters he was defective to say the least.
Recovering speech, she entered the shop and introduced herself. The introduction was needless. Mr Blurt recognised her at once, dropped his paper, extended both hands, gave her a welcome that brought even Jiggs back to the verge of sanity, and had her into the back shop, whence he expelled Mrs Murridge to some other and little-known region of the interior.
"I fear, Miss Gentle," began Mr Blurt, when his visitor was seated in the back shop, and Mrs Murridge had been expelled to the rear as usual, and Jiggs had been left on guard in the front "I fear that you may think it rude in me to make such a proposal, but I am driven to it by necessity, and the fact is, I want you to become a nurse." "A nurse, Mr Blurt!" "There, now, don't take offence.
She was quite willing, and set about it at once, while Mr Blurt nodded good-night, and went away. With very uncomfortable feelings George Aspel stood in the shop, his tall figure drawn up, his arms crossed on his broad breast, and his finely formed head bent slightly down as he sternly watched the operation. Mrs Murridge was a resolute woman.
That night, after the shop was closed and Aspel had gone home, and Mr Fred Blurt had gone to sleep, under the guardianship of the faithful Miss Lillycrop, and Mrs Murridge had retired to the coal-hole or something like it which was her dormitory, Mr Enoch Blurt entered the shop with a mysterious air, bearing two green tablecloths.
The truth of this was corroborated by another furious ring by the invalid, which mingled with the recurring squalls, and was increased by the noisy and pertinacious clatter of the cracked bell that announced the opening of the shop-door. "Zounds! Mrs Murridge, mind the shop! Good-bye, Sir James. Excuse . Coming, dear!"
Poor Mr Blurt looked helplessly at the closed shutters, through a hole in one of which the morning sun was streaming. Turning round he encountered the deeply solemn gaze of an owl which stood on a shelf at his elbow. "No, doctor, I know no more how to open it than that idiot there," he said, pointing to the owl, "but I'll make inquiries of Mrs Murridge."
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