The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 121: what you’re looking at

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

“Very good, sir; if you wish me to look over it, of course I will, and, thank God, we have a stock of razors, of course, always at hand. Is there any news stirring, sir?” “Nothing that I know of, Mr. Todd, except it’s the illness of Mr. Cummings, the overseer. They say he got home about twelve to his own house, in Chancery Lane, and ever since then he has been sick as a dog, and all they can get him to say is, ‘Oh, those pies—oh, those pies!’” “Very odd, sir.” “Very. I think Mr. Cummings must be touched in the upper storey, do you know, Mr. Todd. He’s a very respectable man, but, between you and I, was never very bright.” “Certainly not—certainly not. But it’s a very odd case. What pies can he possibly mean, sir? Did you call when you came from home?” “No. Ha, ha! I can’t help laughing; but ha, ha! I have come away from home on the sly, you see. The fact is, my wife’s cousin, Mr. Mundel—hilloa!—I think you have cut me.” “No, no; we can’t cut anybody for three-halfpence, sir.” “Oh, very good—very good. Well, as I was saying, my wife’s cousin, Mr. Mundel, came to our house last night, and brought with him a string of pearls, you see. He wanted me to go to the City, this morning, with them, to Round and Bridget, the court jewellers’, and ask them if they had ever seen them before.” “Were they beauties?” “Yes, they are brilliant ones. You see, Mundel lends money, and he didn’t like to go himself, so he asked me to go, as Mr. Round knows me very well; for between you and me, Mr. Todd, my wife’s cousin, Mr. Mundel, thinks they belonged, once upon a time, to some lady.” “Oh, indeed!” “Yes; and as it won’t do to say too much to women, I told my wife I was going over the water, you see, and just popped out. Ha, ha, ha! and I’ve got the pearls in my pocket. Mundel says they are worth twelve thousand pounds at the least, ha, ha!” “Indeed, sir, twelve thousand pounds? A pretty sum that, sir—a very pretty sum. No doubt Mr. Mundel lent seven or eight thousand pounds upon the pearls. I think I will just give you another lather, sir, before I polish you off; and so you have the pearls with you, well, how odd things come round, to be sure.” “What do you mean?” “This shaving-brush is just in a good state now. Always as a shaving-brush is on the point of wearing out, it’s the best. Charley, you will go at once to Mr. Cummings’s, and ask if he is any better; you need not hurry, that’s a good lad, I am not at all angry with you now; and so, sir, they think at home that you have gone after some business over the water, do they, and have not the least idea that you have come here to be shaved—there, be off, Charley—shut the door, that’s a good lad, bless you.” eo © @o When Johanna came back, the tobacconist was gone. “Well,” said Sweeney Todd, as he sharpened a razor, very leisurely; “how is Mr. Cummings?” “T found out his house, sir, with some difficulty, and they say he is better, having gone to sleep.” “Oh, very good! I am going to look over some accounts in the parlour, so don’t choose to be disturbed, you understand; and for the next ten minutes, if anybody comes, you will say I am out.” Sweeney Todd walked quite coolly into the parlour, and Johanna heard him lock the door on the inside; a strange, undefined sensation of terror crept over her, she knew not why, and she shuddered, as she looked around her. The cupboard door was not close shut, and she knew not what prompted her to approach and peep in. On the first shelf was the hat of the tobacconist: it was a rather remarkable one, and recognised in a moment. “What has happened? Good God! what can have happened?” thought Johanna, as she staggered back, until she reached the shaving- chair, into which she cast herself for support. Her eyes fell upon the arm which she had taken such a shaving off with the razor, but all was perfectly whole and correct; there was not the least mark of the cut that so recently had been given to it; and, lost in wonder, Johanna, for more than a minute, continued looking for the mark of the injury she knew could not have been, by any possibility, effaced. And yet she found it not, although there was the chair, just as usual, with its wide spreading arms and its worn, tarnished paint and gilding. No wonder that Johanna rubbed her eyes, and asked herself if she were really awake. What could account for such a phenomenon? The chair was a fixture too, and the others in the shop were of a widely different make and construction, so it could not have been changed. “Alas, alas!” mourned Johanna, “my mind is full of horrible surmise, and yet I can form no rational conjecture. I suspect everything, and know nothing. What can I do? What ought I to do, to relieve myself from this state of horrible suspense? Am I really in a place where, by some frightful ingenuity, murder has become bold and familiar, or can it all be a delusion?” She covered her face with her hands for a time, and when she uncovered them, she saw that Sweeney Todd was staring at her with looks of suspicion from the inner room. The necessity of acting her part came over Johanna, and she gave a loud scream. “What the devil is all this about?” said Todd, advancing with a sinister expression. “What’s the meaning of it? I suspect—” “Yes, sir,” said Johanna, “and so do IJ; I must tomorrow have it out.” “Have what out?” “My tooth, sir, it’s been aching for some hours; did you ever have the toothache? If you did, you can feel for me, and not wonder that I lean my head upon my heads and groan.” CORniclooo S CO)