Now off you go." So they hurried off.

Stratford-on-Avon, I may tell you, exists almost entirely on the sale of picture postcards and Shakespeare relics, and there was therefore no difficulty in finding seven shops, each with a first-class assortment.
In this way an hour went very pleasantly, and then the results were laid before the old gentleman.

Of course, there were many duplicates, but each collection had four or five cards that the others had not.
After long consideration, Mr.Imber handed the five shillings to Mary.
Gregory's was the only really original collection, for, taking advantage of the circumstance that Mr.Imber had said nothing about the postcards being strictly of Stratford-on-Avon, he had bought only what pleased himself: all being what are called comic cards--dreadful pictures of mothers-in-law, and twins, and surprised lovers.
Mr.Imber laughed, and told him to keep them.
"Now," said Gregory, selecting a peculiarly vulgar picture of a bull tossing a red-nosed man into a cucumber frame, "I shall send this to Miss Bingham." "Gregory!" exclaimed Janet; "you shall do nothing of the kind." "Why not ?" Gregory asked.

"She'll only laugh, and say: 'How coarse!'" "No," said Janet, "we'll take them back to the shop, and change them for nice ones." "Oh, no, not all," Gregory pleaded.

"Collins would love this one of the policeman with a cold pie being put into his hand by the cook behind his back." "Very well," said Janet, "you may send her that, especially as we're getting her some pretty ones." "Yes," said Gregory, "and Eliza must have this one of the soldier pushing the twins in the perambulator." "Very well," said Janet, "but no others." "Oh, yes," said Gregory, "there's Runcie.