BILLY EGG.
'Can you direct me to Mr William Egg's?' said I one morning to a
smart shopman, who was loitering at the door of a showy haberdasher
in the principal street of a town in Ireland, in which, for a few
months, I once resided. I had been told by two or three persons that
Billy Egg's was the best shop in the place; for that, he being a
general dealer on a very large scale, I should be sure to get
'everything in the world' there. Moreover, I had been instructed that
he sold good articles at a cheap rate; and being a stranger, I felt
truly glad that I had been recommended to a tradesman on whom I
could confidently rely. 'Can you direct me to Mr Egg's?' I repeated,
seeing that the smart shopman was so much occupied either in admiring
his window or his own person, that he had not at first attended to my
question.
'I know no such person, ma'am,' he replied rather sharply; and as I
now perceived that the house bore the evidence of fresh paint and
recent alterations, it occurred to me that the smart shopkeeper might
be a new-comer, and ignorant of the old residents.
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