Seeing that there were no buyers in the store, Mr. Stevens opened the door, and entered. The sounds of his footsteps drew from behind the counter no less a personage than our redoubtable friend Kinch, who, in the absence of his father, was presiding over the establishment.
"Well, Snowball," said Mr. Stevens, "do you keep this curiosity-shop?"
"My name is not Snowball, and this ain't a curiosity-shop," replied Kinch.
"Do you want to buy anything?"
"I believe I do," answered Mr. Stevens. "Let me look at some coats—one that I can get on—I won't say fit me, I'm indifferent about that—let me see some of the worst you've got."
Kinch looked surprised at this request from a gentleman of Mr. Stevens's appearance, and handed out, quite mechanically, a coat that was but slightly worn. "Oh, that won't do—I want something like this," said Mr. Stevens, taking down from a peg a very dilapidated coat, of drab colour, and peculiar cut. What do you ask for this?"
"That's not fit for, a gentleman like you, sir," said Kinch.
"I'm the best judge of that matter," rejoined Mr. Stevens. "What is the price of it?"
"Oh, that coat you can have for a dollar," replied Kinch.
"Then I'll take it. Now hand out some trowsers."
The trowsers were brought; and from a large number Mr. Stevens selected a pair that suited him. Then adding an old hat to his list of purchases, he declared his fit-out complete.