The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 231: what you’re looking at

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

CHAPTER XLV. TODD CLEARS OFF CIRCUMSTANCES. The arrangement come to between Todd and his visitor seemed to give equal satisfaction to both, and Mr. Peter, if he had what the phrenologists call an organ of caution at all developed, must have had acquisitiveness so large as completely to overpower its action at the present time. The idea of getting from Todd’s fears a sum of money at once, and from Fogg’s fears a regular small annuity, was to him a most felicitous combination of circumstances, and his reflections upon the pleasant consequences resulting therefrom had such full possession of him, that his scruples vanished, and as he followed Todd into the back parlour from the shop, he muttered to himself— “T’]l try and get enough out of him to open a public-house.” Todd heard the wish, and turning quickly with what he intended should be an engaging smile, he said— “And why not, Peter—and why not? Nothing would give me more sincere gratification than seeing you in a public-house, for although a man may be a publican, he need not be a sinner, you know.” “Eh?” “T say he need not be a sinner; and there would be nothing in the world, Peter, to prevent you from having prayers night and morning, and I am sure I should be most happy to come now and then, if it were only to say ‘Amen!’” “Humph!” said Peter. “You are too good, you are. Much too good, really.” “Not at all, Peter. Let us be as good as we may, we cannot be too good. Human nature is a strange compound, you know, mixed up of several things opposite to each other, like a lather in a shaving dish.” With this sentiment Todd held open the door of the sanctum behind his shop, and by a cautious wave of his hand invited Mr. Peter to enter. That gentleman did so. “Now,” said Todd, in quite a confidential tone, “what is your peculiar affection in the—” Here Mr. Todd went through the pantomimic action of draining a glass. Peter laughed, and then shaking his head waggishly, he said— “What a rum ’un you are! Fogg had his funny ways, but I do think you beat him, that you do. Well, if I must say I have a partiality, it’s to brandy. Do you know, I think, between you and me and the post, that a drop of good brandy is rather one of them things that makes human nature what it is.” “What a just remark,” said Todd. Peter looked as sage as possible. He was getting upon wonderfully good terms with his own sagacity—a certain sign that he was losing his ordinary discretion. Todd opened a small cupboard in the wall—what a number of small cupboards in the wall Todd had— and produced a long-necked bottle and a couple of glasses. He held the bottle up to the dim light, saying— “That’s the thing, rather.” “Tt looks like it,” said Peter. “And it is,” said Todd, “what it looks. This bottle and the liquor within it have basked in the sun of a fairer clime than ours, Peter, and the laughing glades of the sweet south have capped it in beauty.” Peter looked puzzled. “What a learned man you are, Mr. T.,” he said. “You seem to know something of everything, and I dare say the brandy is to the full as good as it looks.” This was decidedly a quiet sort of hint to decant some of it without further loss of time, and Todd at once complied. He filled Peter’s glass to the brim, and his own more moderately; and as the golden liquor came out with a pleasant bubble from the bottle, Peter’s eyes glistened, and he sniffed up the aroma of that pure champagne brandy with the utmost complaisance. “Beautiful! beautiful!” he exclaimed. “Pretty well,” said Todd. “Pretty well? It’s glorious!” Mr. Peter raised the glass to his lips, and giving a nod to Todd over the rim of it, he said— “T looks towards you.” Todd nodded, and then, in another moment Peter put down his empty glass. “Out and out!” he gasped. “Out and out! Ah, that is the stuff.” Todd tossed off the glass, with the toast of “A long life, and a merry one!” which was duly acknowledged by Peter, who replied— “The same to you, Mr. T., and lots of ’em.” “Tt’s like milk,” said Todd, as he filled Peters glass again. “It’s for all the world like milk, and never can do any one any harm.” “No—no. Enough. There—stop.” Todd did stop, when the glass was within a hair’s breadth of running over, but not before; and then again he helped himself, and when he set the bottle upon the table, he said— “A biscuit?” CORniclooo S CO)