"Think! Put your hand in it."
"Quite hot, sir."
"Well, then, master Charley—Ah! A customer! Come in, sir; come in, if you please, sir. A remarkably fine day, sir. Cloudy, though. Pray be seated, sir. A-hem! Now, Charley, bustle—bustle. Shaved, sir, I presume? D—n the door!"
Todd was making exertions to shut the door after the entrance of a stout-built man, in an ample white coat and a broad brimmed farmer looking hat; but he could not get it close, and then the stout-built man cried out—
"Why don't you come in, Bob—leave off your tricks. Why you is old enough to know better."
"It's only me," said another stout-built man, in another white coat, as he came in with a broad grin upon his face. "It's only me, Mr. Barber—ha! ha! ha!"
Todd looked quite bland, as he said—
"Well, it was a good joke. I could not for the moment think what it was kept the door from shutting, and I always close it, because there's a mad dog in the neighbourhood, you see, gentlemen."
Crack went something to the floor.
"It's this mug, sir," said Charley. "I dropped it."