before the shop Bert and Grubb took was built, and, to be frank, it was the probability of others that attracted them to it.
Its possibilities had come to them first with a humorous flavour.
“Here's one of the places where a chap might get a living by keeping hens,” said Grubb.
“You can't get a living by keeping hens,” said Bert.
“You'd keep the hen and have it spatch-cocked,” said Grubb. “The motor chaps would pay for it.”
When they really came to take the place they remembered this conversation. Hens, however, were out of the question; there was no place for a run unless they had it in the shop. It would have been obviously out of place there. The shop was much more modern than their former one, and had a plate-glass front. “Sooner or later,” said Bert, “we shall get a motor-car through this.”
“That's all right,” said Grubb. “Compensation. I don't mind when that motor-car comes along. I don't mind even if it gives me a shock to the system.”
“And meanwhile,” said Bert, with great artfulness, “I'm going to buy myself a dog.”
He did. He bought three in succession. He surprised the people at the Dogs' Home in Battersea by demanding a deaf retriever, and rejecting every candidate that pricked up its ears. “I want a good, deaf, slow-moving dog,” he said. “A dog that doesn't put himself out for things.”
They displayed inconvenient curiosity; they declared a great scarcity of deaf dogs.
“You see,” they said, “dogs aren't deaf.”
“Mine's got to be,” said Bert. “I've HAD dogs that aren't deaf. All I want. It's like this, you see—I sell gramophones. Naturally I got to make 'em talk and tootle a bit to show 'em orf. Well, a dog that isn't deaf doesn't like it—gets excited, smells round, barks, growls. That upsets the customer. See? Then a dog that has his hearing fancies things. Makes burglars out of passing tramps. Wants to fight every motor that makes a whizz. All very well if you want livening up, but our place is lively enough. I don't want a dog of that sort. I want a quiet dog.”
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