'Market overstocked, eh?' Mr. Curtenty suggested, throwing a side-glance
at Callear the poulterer's close by, which was crammed with everything
that flew, swam, or waddled.

'Call this a market?' said the gooseherd. 'I'st tak' my lot over to
Hanbridge, wheer there _is_ a bit doing, by all accounts.'

Now, Mr. Curtenty had not the least intention of buying those geese, but
nothing could be better calculated to straighten the back of a Bursley
man than a reference to the mercantile activity of Hanbridge, that
Chicago of the Five Towns.

'How much for the lot?' he inquired.

In that moment he reflected upon his reputation; he knew that he was a
cure, a card, a character; he knew that everyone would think it just
like Jos Curtenty, the renowned Deputy-Mayor of Bursley, to stand on
the steps of the Tiger and pretend to chaffer with a gooseherd for a
flock of geese. His imagination caught the sound of an oft-repeated
inquiry, 'Did ye hear about old Jos's latest--trying to buy them there
geese?' and the appreciative laughter that would follow.

The gooseherd faced him in silence.

'Well,' said Mr. Curtenty again, his eyes twinkling, 'how much for the
lot?'

The gooseherd gloomily and suspiciously named a sum.