"I cannot get any new orders," said I, "but I can certainly leave the
rabbits and eggs at the customary places. I know Argent's Dining
Parlours, and Songhurst's Tea Rooms, and the Six Bells Inn, as well as
you do."

So, donning a pair of Phoebe's large white cotton gloves with open-work
wrists (than which I always fancy there is no one article that so
disguises the perfect lydy), I set out upon my travels, upborne by a
lively sense of amusement that was at least equal to my feeling that I
was doing Phoebe Heaven a good turn.

Prices in dressed poultry were fluctuating, but I had a copy of _The
Trade Review_, issued that very day, and was able to get some idea of
values and the state of the market as I jogged along. The general
movement, I learned, was moderate and of a "selective" character. Choice
large capons and ducks were in steady demand, but I blushed for my
profession when I read that roasting chickens were running coarse,
staggy, and of irregular value. Old hens were held firmly at sixpence,
and it is my experience that they always have to be, at whatever price.
Geese were plenty, dull, and weak. Old cocks,--why don't they say
roosters?--declined to threepence ha'penny on Thursday in sympathy with
fowls,--and who shall say that chivalry is dead? Turkeys were a trifle
steadier, and there was a speculative movement in limed eggs. All this
was illuminating, and I only wished I were quite certain whether the
sympathetic old roosters were threepence ha'penny apiece, or a pound.

Everything happened as it should, on this first business journey of my
life, which is equivalent to saying that nothing happened at all.
Songhurst's Tea Rooms took five dozen eggs and told me to bring six dozen
the next week. Argent's Dining Parlours purchased three pairs of