The String of Pearls; or, The Barber of Fleet Street — page 338: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ee : : — : > <a = - ‘ a —s = Me To ve = a ow TUE a ter ae |{pittance. Then was it that the bloated barrister’s clerk, who had grown |ishining and obese upon fares, and who is not required to know any* | jan outrageous caricature of the mode! As the machine that let down at the | }think there must be, as folks say, ‘‘ Something in it,” and she was beginning to’ | jterrify herself with the idea that he had some scheme of redemption for himself |jsides of his mouth from the pie he was consuming. ‘“ You don’t seem at all ||yourself to-day. Indeed you don’t.”’ | ascended, bringing with it the one o'clock batch, in all their steaming glory. 350 °”~»~~”””sT' HE STRING OF PRARLS. ||Commons in that particular, and “loud laughter’ was sure to welcome the | {smallest joke. Mrs. Lovett’s eyes were bent upon the abyss, down which the | |trap had descended but a moment before, | past one batch ?” || “‘ We are rather short of—of meat,” said Mrs. Lovett, with one of her strange | | | metallic smiles. ea RR ae aE RET es meg eon eeeneceereern een nent ttc A A te cone ateie se semaine gre ease ent fssnent Sie nomenon ta ctatt fa spencinri habia ps — sina o se neem Re a @ © from invidious blasts was withdrawn with a screaming jerk, and a gentleman wag | |stopped in.the middle of an argument, what a rush of lawyer's clerks there was Ito the pie-shop in Bell Yard. Then was it that the anxious solicitor’s fag, who Imust know something, and have some brains, smiled at the prospect of the \luxurious repast he was about to have, and jingled the twopence he had kept in la side pocket for only one pie, and grudged it not out of his hard-earned ithing but the complete art of insolence to his brothers, nor to have any imore brains than will suffice him to make up his book in .the long vacation, smacks his lips at the thought of Lovett’s pies, and sends the expectant boy of the chamber— the snob of a snob—for three twopennies. Lean land hungry-looking young men start into Bell Yard from the Strand, | producing crumbled pieces of paper, bag their twopenny, and retire to eat it in isome corner of the old Temple. All is bustle—all is animation, and _ the side |counter—that one, you know, which ran parallel to the window—was lined by clerks, who sat eating and driving their heels against the boarding, and joking, jand laughing “Ha! ha!” how they did laugh! And then what stories they told of their ‘‘ Governors ;”” and how such an one was going out of practice: iand how such another one was a screw, and so on, to the great delight of the imere boys, who hoped one day to wear their hair long and grey, and to dress in iback of the counter, to bring up the pies, went down for the one o'clock batch, lit was noticed that Mrs. Lovett looked a little anxious. The fact was, that the cook had been so prompt upon that day in his movements, that she began to in view, that might most unseasonably develope itself before the customers. “Ah, Mrs. Lovett,” said one young gent, while the gravy ran down the *‘ Who do I seem, then?” “Ha! ha! Upon my life that’s good!” roared another. A small amount of wit did for Lovett’s pie shop. It was like the House of, ‘“‘ Ain’t they a-coming, mum ?” said one. ; “‘Oh, don’t I sniff’em,” said another, working his nose like an ex-chancellor. ‘Don’t 1 sniff ’em.” ‘© Te—licious!” cried another, A feeling of relief was visible upon the face of Mrs. Lovett as the trap slowly |The whole shop was in a moment filled with the fresh appetite-giving aroma jof those bubbling hot pies ; and as the French newspapers say, when a member of the extreme right, or half way to the left, or two degrees from the centre, } } | whole batch was cleared off, not one was left ! ja bland look. «At two, mum?” cried acustomer. ‘“ Why, what’s to become of the half- ‘¢The devil you are! Ain’t there butchers enough ?”’ ‘Oh, dear, yes; but we could not get such meat as we put in our ples, at the swerves, there was “‘asensation.” Five minutes—only five minutes—and the — «‘ Another batch of one hundred, gentlemen, at two,” said Mrs. Lovett, with | | butcher’s.”’ f © You kill your own, mum, then, I suppose?” — comicbooks.com Pyar a. ee ES a penn... —,