The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 181: what you’re looking at

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

here they is.” Ben took from one capacious pocket a huge parcel, containing about six pounds of boiled beef, and from the other he took as much ham. “Hold hard!” he cried to the boy who brought the beer. “Take this half-crown, my lad, and get three quartern loaves.” * “But, Ben,” said old Mr. Oakley, “I really had no intention, when I asked you to come to lunch this morning, of making you provide it yourself. We have, or we ought to have, plenty of everything in the house.” “Old birds,” said Ben, “isn’t to be caught twice. A fellow, arter he has burnt his fingers, is afeard 0’ playing with the fire. No, Mrs. O., you gave us a benefit last time, and I ain’t a-going to try my luck again. All’s right—pitch into the grub. How is the chosen vessel, Mother O? All right, eh?” Mrs. Oakley waited until Ben had made an immense sandwich of ham and beef; and then in an instant, before he was aware of what she was about, she caught it up, and slapped it in his face with a vengeance that was quite staggering. “Easy does it,” said Ben. “Take that, you great, fat elephant.” “Go it—go it.” Mrs. Oakley bounced out of the room. Johanna looked her sorrow; and Mr. Oakley rose from his chair, but Ben made him sit down again, saying— “Easy does it—easy does it. Never mind her, Cousin Oakley. She must have her way sometimes. Let her kick and be off. There’s no harm done—not a bit. Lord bless you, I’m used to all sorts of cantankerous animals.” Mr. Oakley shook his head. “Forget it, father,” said Johanna. “T only wish, my dear, I could forget many things; and yet there are so many others, that I want to remember, mixed up with them, that I don’t know how I should manage to separate them one from the other.” “You couldn’t do it,” said Ben. “Here’s luck in a bag, and shake it out as you want it.” This sentiment was uttered while Ben’s head was deep in the recesses of the two-gallon can of beer, so that it had a peculiar solemn and sonorous effect with it. After drinking about a quart, Ben withdrew the can, and drew a long breath. “Has he brought yours?” he said. “What?—who?” “Why the other two gallons for you and Johanna.” “Good gracious, Ben, you don’t mean that?” “Don’t I, though. Oh, here he is. All’s right. Now, my lad, get the little pint jug, with the silver top to it, and if we don’t mull a drop, I’m a sinner. Now, you’ll see if Mrs. O. don’t come round quite handsome.” Ben, by the aid of some sugar, succeeded in making a very palatable drink, and just as the steam began to salute the nostrils of old Oakley and himself, the door of the parlour was opened, and who should heedlessly step into the room but the pious Mr. Lupin himself. Mr. Lupin was so transfixed by finding Ben there, that for a moment or two he could not gather strength to retreat; and during that brief period, Ben had shifted his chair, until he got quite behind the reverend gentleman, who, when he did step back, in consequence fell into Ben’s lap. “What do yer mean?” cried Ben, in a voice of thunder. “Oh, murder—murder! Have mercy upon me! I only looked in as I was passing, to ask how all the family was.” “Yes,” said Mr. Oakley, “and because you, no doubt, heard I was going to Tottenham, to Judge Merivale’s, to fit him with a pair of spectacles.” “Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Let me go, sir.” “T don’t want you,” said Ben; “but as you are here, let’s make an end of all differences, and have a pint together.” “A pint?” “Yes, to be sure. By the look of your nose, I should say it knows pretty well what a pint is.” “Oh, dear—man is sinful alway. I bear no malice, and if the truly right-minded and pious Mrs. Oakley was only here, we might drink down all differences, Mr. ah—ah—” “Ben.” “Mr. Ben. Thank you, sir.” “Oh, Mr. Lupin,” cried Mrs. Oakley, at this moment bursting into the parlour. “Is it possible that you can give your mind in this way to the Philistines? Is not this backsliding>?” “Let us hope for the best, sister,” said Mr. Lupin, with an evangelical twang. “Let us hope for the best. If people will drink, they had much better drink with the saints, who may take some favourable opportunity of converting them, than with sinners.” “Sit down, mum,” said Ben, “and let’s bury all animosities in the can. Easy does it. Don’t you go, Johanna.” “Yes, but, Ben, I—” “Now don’t.” Ben saw by the direction of Johanna’s eyes, that the Rev. gentleman was resting one of his red raw-looking hands upon her arm, CORniclooo S CO)