The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 218: what you’re looking at

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

windows, so that he was enabled to look out upon the passing world when he pleased. Upon this occasion he availed himself of this mode of ascertaining who it was that had stopped the light from making its way into the shop. It was no other than our old acquaintance, Big Ben from the Tower, who was on his way to Mr. Oakley’s. The heart of Ben had been sensibly touched by the distress of Johanna, and he was going to give her a word or two of comfort and encouragement, which would wholly consist of advising her to “never mind.” But still Ben’s intention was good, however weak might be the means by which he carried it out. As for passing Todd’s window without looking in, he could no more help having a good stare, than he could help doing justice to a flagon of old ale, if it were placed before him; and upon this occasion the little placard, announcing the want of a pious youth, fixed the whole of Ben’s wonder and attraction. “A pious lad!” said Ben. “Oh, the villain. Never mind. Easy does it—easy does it.” “Curses on that fellow!” muttered Todd. “What is he staring at?” “A pious lad!” ejaculated Ben. “Pious—oh—oh. Pious!” “Shaved this morning, sir?” said Todd, appearing at his door with a razor in his hand. “Shaved or dressed? Polish you off surprisingly, in no time, sir.” “Eh?” “Walk in, sir—walk in. A nice comfortable shave makes a man feel quite another thing. Pray walk in, sir. I think I have had the pleasure of seeing you before.” Ben cast an indignant look at Sweeney Todd; and then, as upon the spur of the moment—for Ben was rather a shrewd thinker—he could not find anything strong enough to say, he wisely held his peace, and walked on. Todd looked after him with a savage scowl. “Not much plunder,” he muttered, “but suitable enough in another point of view. Well—well, we shall see—we shall see.” Ben continued his course towards the city, ever and anon repeating as he went—“A pious lad!—a pious lad. Oh, the rascal.” When he reached within a few doors of the spectacle-maker’s, he saw a boy with a letter in his hand looking about him, and probably seeing that Ben had a good-humoured countenance, he said to him— “Tf you please, sir, can you tell me which is Mr. Oakley’s?” “Yes, to be sure. Is that letter for him?” “No, sir, it’s for Miss Oakley.” Ben laid his finger upon the side of his nose, and tried to think. “Miss Oakley,” he said. “A letter for Miss Oakley;” and then, as nothing very alarming consequent upon that proposition presented itself to him, he said, “Easy does it.” “Do you know the house, sir?” asked the boy. “Yes, to be sure. Come along, boy.” “Yes, sir.” “Who’s the letter from?” “A gentleman, sir, as is waiting at the Unicorn, in Addle Street.” “A gentleman as is waiting at the Addle in Unicorn Street,” said Ben; and then, not being able still to hit upon anything very outrageous in all that, he contented himself once more with an “Easy does it.” The boy accompanied him to the door of Mr. Oakley’s, and then Ben said to him— “T’ll give the letter to Miss Oakley if you like, and if you don’t like, you can wait till I send her to you. Easy does it.” “Thank you, sir,” said the boy, “I’d rather give it to the young lady myself.” “Very good,” said Ben. “Rise betimes, and hear early chimes.” With this effort of proverbial lore, Ben marched into the shop, where old Oakley was, with a magnifying glass fitted to his eyes, performing some extraordinary operation upon a microscope. Ben merely said “How is you?” and then passed on to the back-room, having received from the old optician a slight nod by way of a return of the friendly salutation. Ben always esteemed it a stroke of good fortune when he found Johanna alone, which, in the present instance, he did. She rose to receive him, and placed one of her small hands in his, where for a moment or two it was completely hidden. “All right?” said Ben. “Yes, as usual. No news.” “T saw a boy at the door with a letter from a unicorn.” “From a what?” “No, an addle—no. Let me see. A unicom, waiting with a gentleman in addle something. Easy does it. That ain’t it, neither. Where is she?” Guessing that it was some one with a communication from some friend to her, Johanna had glided to the door, and got the letter from the boy. She came with it to the parlour at once, and opened it. It was from Colonel Jeffery, and ran as follows:— Dear Miss Oakley,— If you will oblige me with another meeting in the Temple Gardens this evening, at or about six, I have something to tell you, although I am afraid nothing cheering.—Believe me to be your sincere friend, CORniclooo S CO)