One morning Mr Till had to go to Longshaw to fetch a baby’s coffin which had been ordered under the mistaken impression that a certain baby was dead.  This baby, I may mention, was the hero of the celebrated scare of Longshaw about the danger of being buried alive.  The little thing had apparently passed away; and, what is more, an inquest had been held on it and its parents had been censured by the jury for criminal carelessness in overlaying it; and it was within five minutes of being nailed up, when it opened its eyes!  You may imagine the enormous sensation that there was in the Five Towns.  One doctor lost his reputation, naturally.  He emigrated to the Continent, and now, practising at Lucerne in the summer and Mentone in the winter, charges fifteen shillings a visit (instead of three and six at Longshaw) for informing people who have nothing the matter with them that they must take care of themselves.  The parents of the astonished baby moved the heaven and earth of the Five Towns to force the coroner to withdraw the stigma of the jury’s censure; but they did not succeed, not even with the impassioned aid of two London halfpenny dailies.

To resume, Mr Till had to go to Longshaw.  Now, unless you possess a most minute knowledge of your native country, you are probably not aware that in Aynsley Street, Longshaw, there is a provision dealer whose reputation for cheeses would be national and supreme if the whole of England thought as the Five Towns thinks.

‘Teddy,’ Mrs Till said, as Mr Till was starting, ’you might as well bring back with you a pound of Gorgonzola.’ (Be it noted that I had the details of the conversation from the lady herself.)

‘Yes,’ said he enthusiastically, ‘I will.’

‘Don’t go and forget it,’ she enjoined him.

‘No,’ he said.  ‘I’ll tie a knot in my handkerchief.’

‘A lot of good that’ll do!’ she observed.  ’You’d tied a knot in your handkerchief when you forgot that Councillor Barker’s wife’s funeral was altered from Tuesday to Monday.’

‘Ah!’ he replied.  ‘But now I’ve got a bad cold.’

‘So you have!’ she agreed, reassured.

He tied the knot in his handkerchief and went.

Thanks to his cold he did not pass the cheesemonger’s without entering.

He adored Gorgonzola, and he reckoned that he knew a bit of good Gorgonzola when he met with it.  Moreover, he and the cheesemonger were old friends, he having buried three of the cheesemonger’s children.  He emerged from the cheesemonger’s with a pound of the perfectest Gorgonzola that ever greeted the senses.

The abode of the censured parents was close by, and also close to the station.  He obtained the coffin without parley, and told the mother, who showed him the remarkable child with pride, that under the circumstances he should make no charge at all.  It was a ridiculously small coffin.  He was quite accustomed to coffins.  Hence he did the natural thing.  He tucked the little coffin under one arm, and, dangling the cheese (neat in brown paper and string) from the other hand, he hastened to the station.  With his unmatched legs he must have made a somewhat noticeable figure.