'My eyes! what a lot of money!' echoes the laundress; 'and all for such outlandish stuff! I never drinks nothing but small beer, 'cept it's a quartern o' gin.'
'And my bill,' said the Schneider, 'is three hundred pounds.'
'And mine,' cried the man of beef, 'is two hundred.'
'I tell you what, gem'men,' says the landlady, 'in my opinion you'll never see a shiner; he owes me for five weeks rent.'
'I wish I could get my bottles back,' says the man of champagne.
'I'll never get my clothes,' says the man of measures.
'It's no use standing no nonsense,' says he of beef; 'a gem'man as has got no money, is no gem'man, and dash my wigs! if he don't pay me, I'll tell him so!'
'I'll seize his trunk!' says the landlady.
'And I'll keep his clothes!' said Suds, 'when I can get them again.'
'I'll have satisfaction!' says the man of beef, his hand reverting insensibly to his steel; for in the mind of a butcher, satisfaction is inseparable from slaughtering a sheep or lamb.