"Why, the beadle of St. Clement's was asking of me only last night, what sort of man you was."
"I?"
"Yes, to be sure. It's a gentleman as you went to shave, and as you lent a razor to, as has cut his blessed throat in Norfolk Street."
"God bless me," said Todd, "you don't mean that? Dear! dear! We are indeed here to-day and gone to-morrow. How true it is that flesh is grass;—and so the gentleman cut his throat with my razor, did he?"
"Above a bit."
"Well, well, it is to be hoped that the Lord will be merciful to the little frailties of his creatures."
"Conwulsions! Do you call that a little frailty?"
Todd had passed on into the body of the church, and any minute observer might have noticed, that when he got there, there was a manifest and peculiar twitching of his nose, strongly resembling the evolutions of a certain ex-chancellor. Then, in a low tone to himself, Todd muttered—
"They make a great fuss about the smell in St. Dunstan's, but I don't think it is so very bad after all."
Perhaps one of Todd's notions in going to early morning prayers was to satisfy himself upon the point of the stench in the church. The morning service was very short, so that Todd got back to his shop in ample time to open it for the business of the day. He gave a glance at the window, to be quite sure that the placard announcing the want of a pious lad was there, and then with all the calmness in the world he set about sharpening his razors. Not many minutes elapsed ere a man came in, leading by the hand a boy of about thirteen years of age.