"Hush, hush, neighbour; now, I'll tell you--you shall have it;
but yet a little time. This is great tommy-day, and settles
our reckoning for five weeks; but my man may have a draw after
to-morrow, and he shall draw five shillings, and give you
half."
"And the other half?" said Mrs Mullins.
"Ah! the other half," said Liza Gray, with a sigh. "Well,
then--we shall have a death in our family soon--this poor babe
can't struggle on much longer; it belongs to two burial clubs-
-that will be three pounds from each, and after the drink and
the funeral, there will be enough to pay all our debts and put
us all square."
The doors of Mr Diggs' tommy-shop opened. The rush was like
the advance into the pit of a theatre when the drama existed;
pushing, squeezing, fighting, tearing, shrieking. On a high
seat, guarded by rails from all contact, sate Mr Diggs senior,
with a bland smile on his sanctified countenance, a pen behind
his ear, and recommending his constrained customers in honeyed
tones to be patient and orderly. Behind the substantial
counter which was an impregnable fortification, was his
popular son, Master Joseph; a short, ill-favoured cur, with a
spirit of vulgar oppression and malicious mischief stamped on
his visage.
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