man finds himself in a false position, out of which he sees no
way of escape, he is apt to feel a depression of spirits which reveals
itself in the expression of his countenance.

One morning Mr Enoch Blurt sat on a high stool in his brother's shop,
with his elbows on a screened desk, his chin in his hands, and a grim
smile on his lips.

The shop was a peculiar one. It had somewhat the aspect of an old
curiosity shop, but the predominance of stuffed birds gave it a
distinctly ornithological flavour. Other stuffed creatures were there,
however, such as lizards, frogs, monkeys, etcetera, all of which
straddled in attitudes more or less unlike nature, while a few wore
expressions of astonishment quite in keeping with their circumstances.

"Here am I," soliloquised Mr Blurt with a touch of bitterness, "in the
position of a shop-boy, in possession of a shop towards which I
entertain feelings of repugnance, seeing that it has twice ruined my
poor brother, and in regard to the details of which I know absolutely
nothing. I had fancied I had reached the lowest depths of misfortune
when I became a ruined diamond-merchant, but this is a profounder deep."

"Here's the doctor a-comin' down-stairs, sir," said an elderly female,
protruding her head from the back shop, and speaking in a stage-whisper.

"Very well, Mrs Murridge, let him come," said Mr Blurt recklessly.

He descended from the stool, as the doctor entered the shop looking very
grave. Every expression, save that of deep anxiety, vanished from Mr
Blurt's face.

"My brother is worse?" he said quickly.

"Not worse," replied the doctor, "but his case is critical. Everything
will depend on his mind being kept at ease. He has taken it into his
head that his business is going to wreck while he lies there unable to
attend to it, and asked me earnestly if the shop had been opened. I
told him I'd step down and inquire."

"Poor Fred!" murmured his brother sadly; "he has too good reason to
fancy his business is going to wreck, with or without his attendance,
for I find that very little is doing, and you can see that the entire
stock isn't worth fifty pounds--if so much. The worst of it is that his
boy, who used to assist him, absconded yesterday with the contents of
the till, and there is no one now to look after it."

"That's awkward. We must open the shop how ever, for it is
all-important that his mind should be kept quiet. Do you know how to
open it, Mr Blurt?