"There he is," said she, quite aloud, so that the whole room should hear. "He's a bill-sticker!" and she pointed the finger of scorn at her sister's lover.
"I'm one who have always earned my own living," said Robinson, "and never had occasion to hang on to any one." This he said knowing that Jones's lodgings were paid for by Mr. Brown.
Hereupon Mr. Brisket walked across the room, and as he walked there was a cloud of anger on his brow. "Perhaps, young man," he said,—and as he spoke he touched Robinson on the shoulder,—"perhaps, young man, you wouldn't mind having a few words with me outside the door."
"Sir," said the other with some solemnity, "I am not aware that I have the honour of your acquaintance."
"I'm William Brisket, butcher," said he; "and if you don't come out when I asks you, by jingo, I'll carry you."
The lady had fainted. The crowd of dancers was standing round, with inquiring faces. That female spectre repeated the odious words, still pointing at him with her finger, "He's a bill-sticker!" Brisket was full fourteen stone, whereas Robinson might perhaps be ten. What was Robinson to do? "Are you going to walk out, or am I going to carry you?" said the Hercules of the slaughter-house.
"I will do anything," said Robinson, "to relieve a lady's embarrassment."
They walked out on to the landing-place, whither not a few of the gentlemen and some of the ladies followed them.
"I say, young man," said Brisket, "do you know who that young woman is?"
"I certainly have the honour of her acquaintance," said Robinson.