On a piece of paper Frank wrote, "Dangerous Play."
It was evening before he had finished perfectly to his satisfaction.
Then he called the naturalist in. The old man stopped at the door,
surveying the group. Then he entered and examined it carefully.
"Wonderful!" he said. "Wonderful! I should have thought them alive.
There is not a shop in the West End where it could have been turned
out better, if so well.
"Lad, you are a wonder! Tell me now who and what are you? I saw
when you first addressed me that you were not what you seemed to
be, a working lad."
"I have been well educated," Frank said, "and was taught to preserve
and stuff by my father, who was a great naturalist. My parents
died suddenly, and I was left on my own resources, which," he
said, smiling faintly, "have hitherto proved of very small avail.
I am glad you are pleased. If you will take me into your service I
will work hard and make myself useful in every way. If you require
references I can refer you to the doctor who attended us in the
country; but I have not a single friend in London except a railway
porter, who has most kindly and generously taken me in and sheltered
me for the last two months.
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