Smithers had taken the trouble to go to Fulton Market and buy six dozen oysters, which he wanted roasted, and his wife went to get them ready for supper.
Meanwhile Tommy, accompanied by Mr. Barker, the undertaker, entered the room.
Tommy hung behind at the door, for he was afraid of his father, but the undertaker, who was a fiery, shock-headed little man, free and easy in his manner, and fond of his glass and his pipe, walked right in.
"Good-evening, neighbor," he exclaimed. "I've brought your boy back."
"Ah! Barker! Pray take a seat," replied Smithers, who, though he disliked the undertaker, was secretly afraid of him.
"I can stand."
"Sit down, I say; you're just in time for supper. Oysters from Fulton Market. First-class, I tell you."
"No, no," said Barker. "I only came here with Tommy because he was afraid to come alone. You won't lick him, now?"
"I don't see what you have to do with it, really, Barker."
"He did not understand about cutting up the wood."