Hock--stepping up and making my
bow. "A sad circumstance too, sir! And is it a turn of the tongs that
you want to-day, sir? Ho, there, Mr. Crump!"
"Turn, Mr. Crump, if you please, sir," said Mr. Hock, making a bow:
"but from you, sir, never--no, never, split me!--and I wonder how some
fellows can have the INSOLENCE to allow their MASTERS to shave them!"
With this, Mr. Hock flung himself down to be curled: Mr. Bar suddenly
opened his mouth in order to reply; but seeing there was a tiff between
the gentlemen, and wanting to prevent a quarrel, I rammed the Advertiser
into Mr. Hock's hands, and just popped my shaving-brush into Mr. Bar's
mouth--a capital way to stop angry answers.
Mr. Bar had hardly been in the chair one second, when whir comes a
hackney-coach to the door, from which springs a gentleman in a black
coat with a bag.
"What, you here!" says the gentleman. I could not help smiling, for it
seemed that everybody was to begin by saying, "What, YOU here!" "Your
name is Cox, sir?" says he; smiling too, as the very pattern of mine.
"My name, sir, is Sharpus,--Blunt, Hone and Sharpus, Middle Temple
Lane,--and I am proud to salute you, sir; happy,--that is to say, sorry
to say that Mr. Tuggeridge, of Portland Place, is dead, and your lady
is heiress, in consequence, to one of the handsomest properties in the
kingdom.
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