The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 199: what you’re looking at

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

“This is merely a visit of observation, Johanna; I will go as I am.” “Very well, dear.” They accordingly set out, and as the distance from the house of Arabella Wilmot’s father was but short to the shop of Sweeney Todd, they soon caught sight of the projecting pole that was his sign. “Now be satisfied,” said Arabella, “by passing twice; once up Fleet Street, and once down it.” “T will,” said Johanna. Todd’s shop was closed as usual. There was never an open door to that establishment, so that it was, after all, but a barren satisfaction for poor Johanna to pass the place where her imagination, strengthened by many circumstantial pieces of evidence, told her Mark Ingestrie had met with his death; still, as she had said to Arabella before starting, a horrible sort of fascination drew her to the spot, and she could not resist the fearful attraction that the outside of Todd’s shop had for her. They passed rather rapidly, for Arabella Wilmot did not wish Johanna to pause, for fear she should be unable to combat her feelings, and make some sort of exhibition of them in the open street. “Are you content, Johanna?” she said. “Must we pass again?” “Oh, yes—yes. Again and again; I can almost fancy that by continued looking at that place I could see what has been the fate of Mark.” “But this is imagination and folly.” “Tt may be so, but when the realities of life have become so hideously full of horrors, one may be excused for seeking some consolation from the fairy cave. Arabella, let us turn again.” They had got as far as Temple Bar, when they again turned, and this time Johanna would not pass the shop so abruptly as she had done before, and any one, to see the marked interest with which she paused at the window, would have imagined that she must have some lover there whom she could see, notwithstanding the interior of the shop was so completely impervious to all ordinary gazers: “There is nothing to see,” said Arabella. “No. But yet—ha!—look—look!” Johanna pointed to one particular spot of the window, and there was the eye of Sweeney Todd glaring upon them. “We are observed,” whispered Arabella; “it will be much better to leave the window at once. Come away—oh, come away, Johanna.” “Not yet—not yet. Oh, if I could look well at that man’s face, I think I ought to be able to judge if he were likely to be the murderer of Mark Ingestrie.” Todd came to his door. “Good God, he is here!” said Arabella. “Come away. Come!” “Never. No! Perhaps this is providential. I will, I must look at this man, happen what may.” Todd glared at the two young girls like some ogre intent upon their destruction, and as Johanna looked at him, a painter who loved contrast, might have indeed found a study, from the wonderful difference between those two human countenances. They neither spoke for some few moments, and it was reserved for Todd to break the silence. “What do you want here?” he cried, in a hoarse rough voice. “Be off with you. What do you mean by knocking at the window of an honest tradesman? I don’t want to have anything to say to such as you.” “He—he did it!” gasped Johanna. “Did what?” said Todd, advancing in a menacing attitude, while his face assumed a most diabolical expression of concealed hatred. “Did what?” “Stop him! Stop him!” cried a voice from the other side of the street. “Stop Pison, he’s given me the slip, and I’m blessed if he won’t pitch into that ’ere barber. Stop him. Pison! Pison! Come here, boy. Come here! Oh, lor’, he’s nabbed him. I knowed he would, as sure as a horse’s hind leg ain’t a gammon 0’ bacon. * My eyes, won’t there be a row—he’s nabbed the barber, like ninepence.” Before the ostler at the Bullfinch, for it was from his lips this speech came, could get one half of it uttered, the dog—who is known to the readers by the name of Hector, as well as his new name of Pison—dashed over the road, apparently infuriated at the sight of Todd, and rushing upon him, seized him with his teeth. Todd gave a howl of rage and pain, and fell to the ground. The whole street was in an uproar in a moment, but the ostler rushing over the way, seized the dog by the throat, and made him release Todd, who crawled upon all fours into his own shop. In another moment he rushed out with a razor in his hand. “Where’s the dog?” he cried, “Where’s the fiend in the shape of a dog?” “Hold hard!” said the ostler, who held Hector between his knees. “Hold hard. I have got him, old chap.” “Get out of the way. Ill have his life.” “No, you won’t.” “Humph!” cried a butcher’s boy who was passing. “Why that’s the same dog as said the barber had done for his master, and collected never such a lot of halfpence® in his hat to pay the expenses of burying of him.” “You villain!” cried Todd. “Go to blazes!” said the boy. “Who killed the dog’s master? Ah, ah! Who did it? Ah, ah!” The people began to laugh. “T insist upon killing that dog!” cried Todd. CORniclooo S CO)