"Hair cut?" said Todd, giving a snap to the blades of a large pair of scissors, that made Mr. Otton jump again, and nearly induced the shoemaker to run out of the shop into the street.
"No," said the beadle; and taking off his hat, he felt his hair, as though to satisfy himself that it was all there, just as usual. "No."
Todd looked as though he would have shaved him with extreme pleasure, and advancing a few steps, he added—
"Then what is it that you bring your wieldy carcase here for, you gross lump of stupidity? Ha! ha! ha!"
"What? Conwulsions!"
"Pho!—Pho! Can't you take a joke, Mr. Otton? I know you well enough. It's my funny way to call people, whom I admire very much, all the hard names I can think of."
"Is it?"
"Oh, dear, yes. I thought you and all my neighbours knew that well enough. I'm one of the drollest dogs alive. That I am. Won't you sit down?"
"Well, Mr. Todd, a joke may be a joke." The beadle looked very sententious at this discovery. "But you have the oddest way of poking your fun at any one that ever I heard of; but, I comes to you now as a respectable parishioner, to—"
"Oh," said Todd, putting his hands, very deliberately into his pockets, "how much?"