The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 79: what you’re looking at

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

Sweeney Todd walked rapidly down Fleet Street, towards old Fleet Market, which was then in all its glory, if that could be called glory which consisted in all sorts of filth, enough to produce a pestilence within the city of London. When there, he addressed a large bundle of greatcoats, in the middle of which was supposed to be a hackney* coachman of the regular old school, and who was lounging over his vehicle, which was as long and lumbering as a city barge. “Jarvey,”® he said, “what will you take me to Peckham Rye for?” “Peckham Rye—you and the boy—there ain’t any more of you waiting round the corner, are there, cos, you know, that won’t be fair.” “No, no, no.” “Well, don’t be in a passion, master. I only asked, you know, so you need not be put out about it; I will take you for twelve shillings, and that’s what I call remarkably cheap, all things considered.” “T’ll give half the amount,” said Sweeney Todd, “and you may consider yourself well paid.” “Half, master?—that is cutting it low; but howsoever, I suppose I must put up with it, and take you. Get in, I must try and make it up by some better fare out of somebody else.” The barber paid no heed to these renewed remonstrances of the coachman, but got into the vehicle, carrying Tobias with him, apparently with great care and consideration; but when the coach door closed, and no one was observing him, he flung him down among the straw that was at the bottom of the vehicle, and resting his immense feet upon him, he gave one of his disagreeable laughs, as he said— “Well, I think I have you now, Master Tobias; your troubles will soon be over. I am really very much afraid that you will die suddenly, and then there will be an end of you altogether, which will be a very sad thing, though I don’t think I shall go into mourning, because I have an opinion that that only keeps alive the bitterness of regret, and that it’s a great deal better done without, Master Tobias.” The hackney coach swung about from side to side, in the proper approved manner of hackney coaches in the olden time, when they used to be called “bone setters,” and to be thought wonderful if they made a progress of three miles and a half an hour. This was the sort of vehicle, then, in which poor Tobias, still perfectly insensible, was rumbled over Blackfriars Bridge, and so on towards Peckham, which Sweeney Todd had announced to be his place of destination. Going at the rate they did, it was nearly two hours before they arrived upon Peckham Rye; and any one acquainted with that locality is well aware that there are two roads, the one to the left, and the other to the right, both of which are pleasantly enough studded with villa residences. Sweeney Todd directed the coachman to take the road to the left, which he accordingly did, and they pursued it for a distance of about a mile and a half. It must not be supposed that this pleasant district of country was then in the state it is now, as regards inhabitants or cultivation. On the contrary, it was rather a wild spot, on which now and then a serious robbery had been committed; and which had witnessed some of the exploits of those highwaymen, whose adventures, in the present day, if one may judge from the public patronage they may receive, are viewed with such a great amount of interest. There was a lonely, large, rambling, old-looking house by the wayside, on the left. A high wall surrounded it, which only allowed the topmost portion of it to be visible, and that presented great symptoms of decay, in the dilapidated character of the chimney-pot, and the general appearance of discomfort which pervaded it. There Sweeney Todd directed the coachman to stop, and when the vehicle, after swinging to and fro for several minutes, did indeed at last resolve itself into a state of repose, Sweeney Todd got out himself, and rang a bell, the handle of which hung invitingly at the gate. He had to wait several minutes before an answer was given to this summons, but at length a noise proceeded from within, as if several bars and bolts were being withdrawn; and presently the door was opened, and a huge, rough-looking man made his appearance on the threshold. “Well! what is it now?” he cried. “T have a patient for Mr. Fogg,” said Sweeney Todd. “I want to see him immediately.” “Oh! well, the more the merrier: it don’t matter to me a bit. Have you got him with you—and is he tolerably quiet?” “It’s a mere boy, and he is not violently mad, but very decidedly so as regards what he says.” “Oh! that’s it, is it? He can say what he likes here, it can make no difference in the world to us. Bring him in—Mr. Fogg is in his own room.” “T know the way: you take charge of the lad, and I will go and speak to Mr. Fogg about him. But stay, give the coachman these six shillings, and discharge him.” The doorkeeper of the lunatic asylum, for such it was, went out to obey the injunctions of Sweeney Todd, while that rascally individual himself walked along a wide passage to a door which was at the further extremity of it. Q9OOOOGOOO CORniclooo S CO)