A medical student was trying one of the doublets of orange-tawny and
silver, slashed with dirty light blue. He was going to a masquerade that
night. He thought Polly Pattens would admire him in the dress--Polly
Pattens, the fairest of maids-of-all-work--the Borough Venus, adored by
half the youth of Guy's.
"You look like a prince in it, Mr. Lint," pretty Rachel said, coaxing
him with her beady black eyes.
"It IS the cheese," replied Mr. Lint; "it ain't the dress that don't
suit, my rose of Sharon; it's the FIGURE. Hullo, Rafael, is that you,
my lad of sealing-wax? Come and intercede for me with this wild gazelle;
she says I can't have it under fifteen bob for the night. And it's too
much: cuss me if it's not too much, unless you'll take my little bill at
two months, Rafael."
"There's a sweet pretty brigand's dress you may have for half de
monish," Rafael replied; "there's a splendid clown for eight bob; but
for dat Spanish dress, selp ma Moshesh, Mistraer Lint, ve'd ask a guinea
of any but you. Here's a gentlemansh just come to look at it. Look 'ear,
Mr. Brownsh, did you ever shee a nisher ting dan dat?" So saying, Rafael
turned to Lord Codlingsby with the utmost gravity, and displayed to him
the garment about which the young medicus was haggling.
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