The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 249: what you’re looking at

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

“There is a bill in your window—” “A what?” Todd had forgotten the announcement regarding the youth he wanted, with a taste for piety. “A bill. You want a boy, sir.” “Oh,” said Todd, as the object of the visit at once thus became clear and apparent to him. “Oh, that’s it.” “Yes, sir.” Todd held up his hand to his eyes, as though he were shading them from sunlight, as he gazed upon Johanna, and then, in an abrupt tone of voice, he said— “You won’t do.” “Thank you, sir.” She moved towards the door. Her hand touched the handle. It was not fast. The door opened. Another moment, and she would have been gone. “Stop!” cried Todd. She returned at once. “You don’t look like a lad in want of a situation. Your clothes are good—your whole appearance is that of a young gentleman. What do you mean by coming here to ask to be an errand boy in a barber’s shop? I don’t understand it. You had different expectations.” “Yes, sir. But Mrs. Green—” “Mrs. who?” “Green, sir, my mother-in-law, ® don’t use me well, and I would rather go to sea, or seek my living in any way, than go back again to her; and if I were to come into your service, all I would ask would be, that you did not let her know where I was.” “Humph! Your mother-in law, you say?” “Yes, sir. | have been far happier since I ran away from her, than I have been for a long time past.” “Ah, you ran away? Where lives she?” “At Oxford. I came to London in the waggon, and at every step the lazy horses took, I felt a degree of pleasure that I was placing a greater distance between me and oppression.” “Your own name?” “Charley Green. It was all very well as long as my father lived; but when he was no more, my mother-in-law began her ill-usage of me. I bore it as long as I could, and then I ran away. If you can take me, sir, I hope you will.” “Go along with you. You won’t suit me at all. | wonder at your impudence in coming.” “No harm done, sir. I will try my fortune elsewhere.” Todd began sharpening a razor, as the boy went to the door again. “Shall I take him?” he said to himself. “I do want some one for the short time I shall be here. Humph! An orphan—stranger in London. No one to care for him. The very thing for me. No prying friends—nowhere to run, the moment he is sent of an errand, with open mouth, proclaiming this and that has happened in the shop. I will have him.” He darted to the door. “Hoi!—hoi!” Johanna turned round, and came back in a minute. Todd had caught at the bait at last. She got close to the door. “Upon consideration,” said Todd, “I will speak to you again. But just run and see what the time is by St. Dunstan’s Church.” “St.—St. who?” said Johanna, looking around her with a bewildered, confused sort of air. “St. who?” “St. Dunstan’s, in Fleet Street.” “Fleet Street? If you will direct me, sir, I dare say I shall find it—oh, yes. I am good at finding places.” “He is strange in London.” muttered Todd. “I am satisfied of that. He is strange. Come in—come in, and shut the door after you.” With a heart beating with violence that was positively fearful, Johanna followed Todd into the shop, carefully closing the door behind her, as she had been ordered to do. “Now,” said Todd, “nothing in the world but my consideration for your orphan and desolate condition, could possibly induce me to think of taking you in; but the fact is, being an orphan myself—(here Todd made a hideous grimace)—I say, being an orphan myself, with little to distress me amid the oceans and quicksands of this wicked world, some very strong sense of religion—(another hideous grimace)—I naturally feel for you.” “Thank you, sir.” “Are you decidedly pious?” “T hope so, sir.” “Humph! Well, we will say more upon that all-important subject another time, and if I consent to be your master, ah—ah—ah—” “Charley Green, sir.” “Ay, Charley Green. If I consent to take you for a week upon trial, you must wholly attribute it to my feelings.” “Certainly, sir.” CORniclooo S CO