"Ah! you are just like me, young man, there," said an elderly personage; "I have a delicate stomach, and the slightest thing disagrees with me. A mere idea will make me quite ill."
"Will it, really?"
"Yes; and my wife, she—"
"Oh, bother your wife! It's only five minutes to nine, don't you see? What a crowd there is, to be sure. Mrs. Lovett, you charmer, I hope you have ordered enough pies to be made to-night? You see what a lot of customers you have."
"Oh, there will be plenty."
"That's right. I say, don't push so; you'll be in time, I tell you; don't be pushing and driving in that sort of way—I've got ribs."
"And so have I. Last night I didn't get a pie at all, and my old woman is in a certain condition, you see, gentlemen, and won't fancy anything but one of Lovett's veal pies; so I've come all the way from Newington to get one for—"
"Hold your row, will you? and don't push."
"For to have the child marked with a pie on its—"
"Behind there, I say; don't be pushing a fellow as if it were half price at a theatre."