Australian Tales - Setis

and summoning up his good-tempered looks, he gently tapped at the
office door of Mr. Putemoff, whose name stood first on the list. “Come
in,” said a voice as soft as a flageolet. Jerry's hope revived a little as he
walked in, and making a low bow, began to state the object of his visit.
“If you please, sir, I've called — — ” “Oh, ah, yes,” ejaculated Mr.
Putemoff, interrupting him. “You've come again for that little account, of
course. Bless me! hasn't it been settled yet! It ought to have been paid
before, but I quite forgot it. Yes, ah! I have the account somewhere
amongst my papers,” he continued, musingly, as he opened a drawer, and
began to rummage among a host of small documents. “Um, dear me; I'm
sorry I can't find it, my lad; I must trouble you to ‘call again,’ when my
clerk is in. Yes; just look in again, if you please.” “Very good, sir,”
replied Jerry, as he bowed his way out of the office, pleased that the
stinging words, “call again,” had been uttered in a civil tone.
“What do you want?” enquired Mr. Bluff, the butcher, as Jerry stepped
into his shop with a timid air, as if he owed the butcher a long bill and
could not pay a penny. “If you please, sir, I've called for that little
account for binding your old books — seven and sixpence. My father
says he'll be very much obliged — — ” “You must call again; can't you
see I'm too busy to attend to you?” said Mr. Bluff, as he chopped away at
a bullock's tail. “If you please, sir,” urged Jerry, meekly, “father is — —
” “Call again, I tell you. Don't bother me now!” roared Mr. Bluff,
grinning the while like a shark who is just going to swallow a sailor,
which frightened Jerry out of the shop in a minute.
With a heart as heavy as a bag of shot, he next entered the shop of Mr.
Mull, the mercer, and civilly asked for the payment of nine shillings,
which had been owing for some time. “Where's the account?” asked Mr.
Mull, hastily, as he lifted up the flap of his desk and looked inside,
remarking at the same time that those petty little bills bothered him twice
as much as all his big ones. “I've never seen your account,” said Mr.
Mull, after an apparent fruitless search in his desk for it. “I have left it
twice, sir,” said poor Jerry, with an imploring look. “Ah, then it's been
mislaid. You must call again with it, and don't come here again on
Saturday, d'ye hear?”
“Master's gone to lunch,” said a small boy, who was seated on a butter
tub, eating a saveloy, as Jerry stepped into the store of Mr. Baggs, the
commission agent, in the hope of collecting five shillings and sixpence;
so Jerry stepped out of the store again, wishing that he could go to lunch
too.
His next essay was at Messrs. Braceup, Sharp, and Co.'s, the ship
chandlers. “You've called on the wrong day,” said a little old gentleman,
as stiff as a ship's figure-head. “It's only eight shillings, sir,” said Jerry
with half a dash of warmth, as he reflected upon his previous nonsuccess.
“Yes, yes, that's right enough, my lad,” said the stolid old