The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 304: what you’re looking at

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

There was no light in the shop but what at times came from a little flickering flame, that would splutter into a moment’s brief existence in the fire; but Todd, as he glared through the upper portion of the half-glass door at a spot where he knew the blind did not prevent him, could just see Johanna thus sitting. “Humph!” he said. “The boy is quiet enough, and probably, after all, may suspect nothing; although I don’t at all like his manner at times; yet it is safer to kill him before I go. It is absolute security. He shall help me to arrange everything to set the house on fire, and then when I have completed all my arrangements, it will be easy to knock him on the head.” With this he opened the door. Johanna started. “Well,” said Todd, “well, any one been?” “Only a man to be shaved, sir. I told him you would be home soon, but he could not wait, so he left.” “Let him leave and get shaved at the devil!” said Todd. “You are sure no one has been here peeping and prying, and asking questions which you would be quite delighted to answer, eh?” “Peeping and prying, sir?” “Yes, peeping and prying. You know the meaning of that. Don’t put on a look of surprise at me. It won’t do. I known what you boys are. Curse you all! Yes, I know what you are.” Johanna made no answer. Todd took off his hat, and shook the rain from it violently. Then in a voice that made Johanna start again, he cried— “Light the lamp, idiot!” It was quite clear that the occurrences at the colonel’s had not improved Todd’s temper at all, and that upon very little pretext for it, he would have committed some act of violence, of which Johanna might be the victim. Anything short of that she could endure, but she had made up her mind that if even he so much as laid his hand upon her, her power of further patience would be gone, and she would be compelled to adopt the means of summoning aid which had been pointed out to her by Sir Richard Blunt—namely, by casting something through the window into the street. She lit the shop-lamp as quickly as she could. “A lazy life you lead,” said Todd. “A lazy life, indeed. Well, well,” he added, softening his tone, “it don’t matter—I shall polish you off for all that, Charley. What a pretty boy you are.” “Sir?” “T say what a pretty boy you are. Why, you must have been your mamma’s pet, that you must. I was. Ha! ha! Look at me, now. I was fondled and kissed once, and called a pretty boy. Ha!” Johanna shuddered. “Yes,” added Todd, as he wiped himself down with a soiled towel, “yes, my mother used to make quite a pet of me. I often used to wish I was strong enough to throttle her! Ha! ha! That I did!” “Throttle her, sir?” “Yes,” added Todd, fiercely. “What the devil did she bring me into the world for her own gratifications, unless she had plenty of money to give me that I might enjoy myself in it?” “T don’t know, sir.” “You don’t know? Who the devil supposed you did know? Answer me that, you imp! Well, well, Charley, you and I won’t quarrel about such matters. Come, my boy, I want you to be of use to me to-night.” “To-night, sir?” “Yes, to-night. Is it broad daylight? Is the sun shining? Is there no such thing as night, under cover of which black deeds are done? Curse you! why do you ask if to-night is the time for action?” “T will do your bidding, sir.” “Yes; and—Ah! who is this?” “Ts this here keg of turpentine for you?” said a man, with it upon his shoulder. “Mr. Todd’s this is, ain’t it?” “Yes—yes. Put it down, my good fellow. You ought to have something to drink.” “Thank you kindly, sir.” “But you must pay for it yourself. There is a public-house opposite.” The man went away swearing; and scarcely had he crossed the threshold, when a letter was brought by a lad, and handed to Todd. Before he could ask any questions, the lad was gone. Todd held the letter in his hand, and glared at the direction. It was to him, sure enough, and written in a very clerk-like hand, too. Before he could open it, some one hit the door a blow upon the outside, and it swung open. “Ts this Todd’s, the barber?” “Yes,” said Johanna. “Then give him that letter, little chap, will you?” “Stop!” cried Todd. “Stop. Where do you come from, and who are you? Stop, you rascal. Will you stop? Confound you, I wish I had a razor at your throat.” CORniclooo S CO)