“But then, you know,” said Miss Tollicks, “it’s no use to try and make more of things of that sort, is it? No, he didn’t know the street, nor anything more about it, for he bought the lease of the house of someone else.”
As for Matt, he did not speak, but took snuff ferociously, and glared at the paper squares upon the counter.
“But there, do come in,” cried Miss Tollicks; “and, dear me, Mr—Mr—I don’t know your name, but don’t, pray, take snuff like that; you’ll make yourself ill. But there, do come in;” and in spite of refusals Miss Tollicks soon had her visitors seated in her bower, in company with a spirit-bottle and a couple of tumblers and sugar, a tiny kettle upon the fire singing merrily.
“I do suffer so from spasms,” said Miss Tollicks as she placed the suspicious-looking spirit-bottle upon the table; but all these preparations were not made at once, for, from her many pops in and out of the shop, and the rattling of the scales, it was evident that Miss Tollicks had chosen the right business at last, and was prospering famously. The decanter was brought out of a Berlin-wool-worked overgrown dice-box on one side of the fire, the glasses from its ditto on the other, the kettle out of a window-locker, and divers other ways of economising space were shown; while the visitors were informed that so much of the house was let off. “It all helps so,” said Miss Tollicks; “for London rents are enough to kill you; and you doing nothing but feed your landlord.”
Old Matt grunted acquiescence.
“Now one each, please,” said Miss Tollicks, “just to be sociable; and then you can speak up for the quality of my goods. How do you find the snuff, Mr —?”
“Space, ma’am,” said Matt. “Good; very good, ma’am, but not durable.”
“That’s right,” exclaimed Miss Tollicks, as she pressed the two mild Havannas she had brought in upon her visitors. “Don’t mind me, pray—I am trying to get used to smoke as well as snuff.”
Septimus and Matt were both non-smokers, but as they exchanged glances they came to the conclusion that they could extinguish their cigars as soon as they were outside. So Septimus set the example, with a very ludicrous cast of countenance, by placing the little vegetable roll in his mouth, and Miss Tollicks tore off a piece of paper from a square on the counter, doubled, lit, and handed it to the smoker.
Septimus Hardon’s face was a regular study as Matt, grumbling to himself, “Why didn’t she make it snuff?” watched him trying to light his cigar—a new feat to him entirely.