"No, thank you, I want to—"
"Or a smart pair o' bang up riding-jacks—?"
"No," said Barnabas again, "I came here to see—"
"You can't 'ave 'em! And because why?" demanded the little man, his fierce eyes growing fiercer as he stared at Barnabas from modish hat to flowered waistcoat, "because I don't make for the Quality. Quality—bah! If I 'ad my way, I'd gillertine 'em all,—ah, that I would! Like the Frenchies did when they revolutioned. I'd cut off their 'eads! By the dozen! With j'y!"
"You are Nick, the Cobbler, I think?"
"And what if I am? I'd chop off their 'eads, I tell ye,—with j'y and gusto!"
"And pray where is Clemency?"
"Eh?" exclaimed the little cobbler, pushing up his horn spectacles, "'oo did ye say?"
"Where is the lady who came in here a moment ago?"
"Lady?" said the cobbler, shaking his round, bald head, "Lord, sir, your heyes 'as been a-deceiving of you!"