"Oh, yes. I'm a coming to that; but it curdles my blood, and makes my wig stand on end. I had dusted the communion table, and banged the cushions, and up I goes to the pulpit, meaning to do for that as soon as I could, when who should be there but Sweeney Todd!"
"In the pulpit!" cried everybody.
"In the pulpit," said the beadle.
"Why didn't you nab him at once?" roared Crotchet.
"Because, my good friend, he nabbed me at once. He laid hold of me by this leg—no, it was this—no it wasn't. It was this—that is—no—"
"Confound both your legs! Where is he now?"
"Why, really I can't exactly say, for after stamping upon my inside for about half an hour, he left me for dead, and I was about half gone that way, and I have been a groaning ever since, till now. I am going fast—very fast, and there will be an election for beadle again in this here parish. Oh dear—oh dear! Murder—murder—mur—"
"What, you is coming that agin, is you," cried Crotchet, as he again caught up the pew-cushion. "I shall be obligated, after all, for to push this down your blessed throat. Hold your noise, will you, Mr. What's-your-name."
The beadle was so terrified at the idea of the pew-cushion again nearly smothering him, that despite all his injuries, he sprang to his feet and bolted out of the church.
"Well, did yer ever know sich a feller?" said Crotchet. "Why, one would think he was afraid of Todd."