1^2 ANGEL PAVEMENT

did not work. He was in the second-hand trade, in the
buying and selling line, a legitimate dealer, and took
himself and his mysterious business with enormous
seriousness. IŁ he was not doing very well, that was
because trade was so bad. Mr. Pelumpton had all the
deliberation and dignity of an antique merchant prince.
He smoked a foul little pipe, liked a glass of beer, was
a great reader of newspapers, and always talked in a very
solemn and confidential manner. Like many dealers
and Caledonian Market men, who have drooping
moustaches, very few teeth, and a confidential manner,
he softened all the sibilants, putting an "h" behind
every "s." There is no doubt that a dealer who can
only say "Yes" is not in such a strong position as the
dealer who can draw it out into a mysterious "Yersh."
Mr. Pelumpton was essentially a "Yersh" man.

He now advanced very slowly into the room, carefully
seated himself by the fire, took out his evil little pipe,
looked at Turgis in a watery fashion, nodded solemnly,
put back his pipe, and waited for somebody to ask him
something.

"Well, did you catch him in?" his wife inquired. Mr,
Pelumpton was always having to slip round the corner
to catch somebody in, even if he had only just finished
his own dinner.

"Out till five," replied Mr. Pelumpton. "And a
shaushy ansher for me trouble."

"Who's bin giving you a saucy answer?"

"Hish mishish," said Mr. Pelumpton, "if it ish hish
mishish. 'Can't expect to find 'im in on Shaturday
arfternoon/ she shaysh to me. 'You'll excuse me,
mishish/ I told her, 'but in my bishnish, you've got to
work Shaturday arfternopn shame ash any other arfter-