The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 175: what you’re looking at

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

barbers.” “You opened your mouth at the wrong time, sir.” “The wrong devil. Don’t keep me here all night.” “Certainly not, sir. But as I was saying about this curious case in the paper. A military gentleman went into a barber’s shop to be shaved.” “Well. The devil—pluff, pluff! Good God! Am I to endure all this?” “Certainly not, sir. ll show you the paper itself. You must know, sir, that the paragraph is headed ‘Mysterious disappearance of a gentleman.’” “Damn it, what do I care about it? Get on with the shaving.” “Certainly, sir.” Todd gave a horrible scrape to Major Bounce’s face with a blunt razor. “Quite easy, sir?” “Easy? Good gracious, do you want to skin me?” “Oh, dear no, sir. What an idea. To skin a military gentleman! Certainly not, sir. I see you require one of my best keen razors—one of the Magnum Bonums.® Ha! ha!” “Eh? What was that?” “Only me giving a slight smile, sir.” “The deuce it was. Don’t do it again, then, that’s all; and get your keen razor at once, and make an end of the business.” “T will—make an end of the business. Sit still, sir. I’ ll be back in a moment.” Todd went into the parlour. “Fifty-thousand pounds!” muttered Major Bounce. “I am a happy fellow. At last, after so many ups and downs, I light upon my feet. A charming widow!—and she wishes to leave England. How lucky. I wish the very same thing. Fifty-thousand pounds!—fifty- thousand charms!” ® e® @o “Good God! what’s that?” said a man, who was passing Todd’s window, in Fleet Street. “What a horrid shriek. Did you hear it, mum?” “Oh dear, yes,” said a woman. “I’m all of a tremble.” “Tt came from the barber’s shop, here. Let’s go in, and ask if anything is the matter?” The man and woman crossed Todd’s threshold, and opened the shop door. A glance showed them that a man’s face was at a small opening of the parlour door. The shaving chair was empty. “What’s the matter?” said the man. “With whom?” said Todd. “Well, I don’t know, but I thought somebody cried out.” Todd crept along the floor until he came close to the man, and then he said— “My friend, have you anything to do?” “Yes, thank God.” “Then, go and do it; and the next time you hear me cry out with the stomach-ache, ask yourself if it is your business to come in and ask me any questions about it. As for you, ma’am, unless you want to be shaved, I don’t know, for the life of me, what you do here.” “Well, we only thought——” Todd gave a hideous howl, which so terrified both the intruders, that they left the shop in a moment. His countenance then assumed that awful satanic expression which it sometimes bore, and he stood for the space of about five minutes in deep thought. Starting then suddenly, he took up the sword and hat of Major Bounce, and was in the act of putting both into a cupboard, when a smothered cry met his ears. Todd unsheathed the sword, and after fastening his shop door, he went into the parlour. He was absent about ten minutes, and when he returned he had not the sword, but he hastily washed his hands. “Done!” he said. Scratch! scratch! scratch! came something at his door, and Todd bent forward in an attitude of listening. Scratch!—scratch!—scratch! His face turned ghastly pale, and his knees knocked together as he whispered to himself— “What is that?—what is that?” Todd was getting superstitious. Since his adventure with Mr. Crotchet, his nerves had been out of order, notwithstanding the exertions he had made to control himself, and to convince his judgment that it was all a matter of imagination. Yet now, somehow or another, although there was no visible connection between the two things, he could not help mentally connecting this scratching at the door with the vision on the staircase. It is strange how the fancy will play such tricks, but it is no less strange than true that she does so, yoking together matters most dissimilar, and leading the judgment into strange disorder. Scratch!—scratch!—scratch! “What—what is it?” gasped Todd. CORniclooo S CO)