The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 178: what you’re looking at

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

one at that moment opened the shop-door, and narrowly escaped a blow upon the head, that would have finished their mortal career. “Hilloa! Are you mad?” “Mad!” said Todd. “Yes: do you knock folks’ brains out when they come to be shaved?” “Mine’s a sedentary employment,” said Todd, “and when I am alone, I like exercise to open my chest. That’s all. Ain’t it rather late to be shaved? I was just about to shut up.” “Why it is rather late, Mr. Todd; but the fact is, I am going to York by the early coach from the Bullfinch Inn, opposite, and I want a shave before I get upon my journey, as I shan’t have an opportunity you see, again, for some time.” “Very well, sir.” “Come in, Charley.” Todd started. “What’s that?” he said. He felt afraid that it was the dog again, under some new name. Truly, conscience was beginning to make a coward of Sweeney Todd, although he denied to himself the possession of such an article. Charley came in the shape of a little boy, of about eight years of age. “Now you sit down, and don’t do any mischief,” said the father, “while I get Mr. Todd to shave me. I am a late customer indeed. You see the coach goes in two hours, and as I have got to call the last thing upon Alderman Stantons, I thought I would be shaved first, and my little lad here would come with me.” “Oh, certainly, sir,” said Todd; “I believe I have the pleasure of speaking to Mr. Brown, the silversmith.” “Yes—yes. The alderman gave me some jewels, worth about three thousand pounds, to re-set, and though they are not done, I really don’t like to have them at home while I take such a journey, so I want to lodge them with him again until I come back.” Todd lathered away at Mr. Brown’s chin, as he said with an air of innocence—“Can you carry so many jewels about with you, sir?” “So many? Aye, ten times as many. Why they are all in a little narrow case, that would not hold a pair of razors.” “Indeed!” Todd began the shaving. “And so this is your little boy? A sharp lad, no doubt.” “Tolerable.” “The whiskers as they are, sir?” “Oh, yes—yes.” “T suppose you never trust him out alone in the streets?” “Oh, yes; often.” “Ts it possible? Well, now, I should hardly have thought it. What a sweet child he looks, and such a nice complexion, too. It’s quite a pleasure to see him. I was considered myself a very fine child a good while ago.” Todd took care to lift the razor judiciously, so as to give Mr. Brown opportunities of replying; and the silversmith said— “Oh, yes: he’s a nice little fellow. He’s got his mother’s complexion.” “And he shan’t lose it,” said Todd, “if there’s any virtue in pearlometrical savonia.” * “In what?” “Oh, that’s the name I give to a soap that preserves the complexion in all its purity. I have only a small parcel of it, so I don’t sell it, but I give it away now and then, to my lady customers. Excuse me for one moment.” “Oh, certainly.” Todd opened a glass case, and took out two pieces of soap, of a yellowish tint. “There, Charley,” he said as he handed them to the little fellow, “There’s a piece for you, and a piece for mamma.” “Really, you are very kind, Mr. Todd,” said Brown. “Oh, don’t mention it. Run home at once, Charley, with them, and by the time you get back your father will be—finished. Run along.” “T won’t,” said Charley. “Ah, come—come,” said his father. “T won’t go, and I don’t like soap.” “And why don’t you like soap, my little man?” said Todd, as he recommenced operations upon the silversmith’s face. “Because I don’t like to be washed at all, it scrubs so, and I don’t like you, either, you are so dreadfully ugly—that I don’t.” Todd smiled blandly. “Now, Charley,” said his father, “I am very angry with you. You are a very bad boy indeed. Why don’t you do as Mr. Todd tells you?” “Because I won’t.” “Bless him,” said Todd, “bless his heart. But don’t you think, Mr. B.”——here Todd’s voice sank to a whisper—“don’t you think that it’s rather injudicious to encourage this obstinacy—if one may call it such—thus early in life? It may, you know, grow upon the dear CORniclooo S CO)