The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 81: what you’re looking at

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

“T will pay,” said Sweeney Todd, as he leaned over the table, and looked in the face of his questioner, “I will pay for twelve months; but I don’t think between you and I, that the case will last anything like so long—I think he will die suddenly.” “T shouldn’t wonder if he did. Some of our patients do die very suddenly, and, somehow or other, we never know exactly how it happens; but it must be some sort of fit, for they are found dead in the morning in their beds, and then we bury them privately and quietly, without troubling anybody about it at all, which is decidedly the best way, because it saves a great annoyance to friends and relations, as well as prevents any extra expense which otherwise might be foolishly gone to.” “You are wonderfully correct and considerate,” said Todd, “and it’s no more than what I expected from you, or what any one might expect from a person of your great experience, knowledge, and acquirements. I must confess I am quite delighted to hear you talk in so elevated a strain.” “Why,” said Mr. Fogg, with a strange leer upon his face, “we are forced to make ourselves useful, like the rest of the community; and we could not expect people to send their mad friends and relatives here, unless we took good care that their ends and views were answered by so doing. We make no remarks, and we ask no questions. Those are the principles upon which we have conducted business so successfully and so long; those are the principles upon which we shall continue to conduct it, and to merit, we hope, the patronage of the British public.” “Unquestionably—most unquestionably.” “You may as well introduce me to your patient at once, Mr. Todd, for I suppose, by this time, he has been brought into this house.” “Certainly, certainly—I shall have great pleasure in showing him to you.” The madhouse-keeper rose, and so did Mr. Todd, and the former, pointing to the bottles and glasses on the table, said— “When this business is settled, we can have a friendly glass together.” To this proposition Sweeney Todd assented with a nod, and then they both proceeded to what was called a reception-room in the asylum, and where poor Tobias had been conveyed and laid upon a table, when he showed slight symptoms of recovering from the state of insensibility into which he had fallen, and a man was sluicing water on his face by the assistance of a hearth broom occasionally dipped into a pailful of that fluid. “Quite young,” said the madhouse-keeper, as he looked upon the pale and interesting face of Tobias. “Yes,” said Sweeney Todd, “he is young—more’s the pity—and, of course, we deeply regret his present situation.” “Oh, of course, of course; but see, he opens his eyes, and will speak directly.” “Rave, you mean, rave!” said Todd; “don’t call it speaking, it is not entitled to the name. Hush! listen to him.” “Where am |?” said Tobias, “where am I? Todd is a murderer—I denounce him.” “You hear—you hear?” said Todd. “Mad indeed,” said the keeper. “Oh, save me from him—save me from him!” said Tobias, fixing his eyes upon Mr. Fogg. “Save me from him; it is my life he seeks because I know his secrets. He is a murderer—and many a person comes into his shop, who never leaves it again in life, if at all.” “You hear him?” said Todd. “Was there ever anybody so mad?” “Desperately mad,” said the keeper. “Come, come, young fellow, we shall be under the necessity of putting you in a strait waistcoat ® if you go on in that way. We must do it, for there is no help in such cases if we don’t.” Todd slunk back into the dark of the apartment, so that he was not seen, and Tobias continued, in an imploring tone— “T do not know who you are, sir, or where I am; but let me beg of you to cause the house of Sweeney Todd, the barber, in Fleet Street, near St. Dunstan’s church, to be searched, and you will find that he is a murderer. There are at least a hundred hats, quantities of walking sticks, umbrellas, watches, and rings, all belonging to unfortunate persons who, from time to time, have met with their deaths through him.” “How uncommonly mad,” said Mr. Fogg. “No, no,” said Tobias, “I am not mad. Why call me mad, when the truth or falsehood of what I say can be ascertained so easily? Search his house, and if those things be not found there, say that I am mad, and have but dreamed of them, I do not know how he kills the people—tThat is a great mystery to me yet—but that he does kill them, I have no doubt—I cannot have a doubt.” “Watson!” cried the madhouse keeper. “Hilloa! here, Watson.” “T am here, sir,” said the man, who had been dashing water upon poor Tobias’s face. “You will take this lad, Watson, as he seems extremely feverish and unsettled. You will take him and shave his head, Watson, and put a strait waistcoat upon him, and let him be put in one of the dark, damp cells. We must be careful of him, and too much light encourages delirium and fever.” “Oh! no, no!” cried Tobias; “What have I done that I should be subjected to such cruel treatment? what have I done that I should be placed in a cell? If this be a madhouse, I am not mad. Oh! have mercy upon me!—have mercy upon me!” “You will give him nothing but bread and water, Watson; and the first symptom of his recovery, which will produce better treatment, will be his exonerating his master from what he has said about him; for he must be mad so long as he continues to accuse such a gentleman as Mr. Todd of such things nobody but a mad man or a mad boy would think of it.” “Then,” said Tobias, “I shall continue mad; for if it be madness to know and aver that Sweeney Todd, the barber, of Fleet Street, is a murderer, mad am I, for I know it, and aver it—It is true—it is true.” CORniclooo S CO)