The String of Pearls (1850), p. 213

he made a general survey of the shop, and finally ended by leaping into the shaving-chair, where he sat and commenced such a series of melancholy howls, that Todd was nearly driven out of his mind at the conviction that the whole street must be soon in a state of alarm. Oh! how glad he would have been to have shot Hector; but then, although he had pistols in the parlour, he might miss him, and send the bullet into Fleet-street through his own window, and, perchance, hit somebody, and that would be a trouble. The report, too, would bring a crowd round his shop, and the old story of him and the accusing dog—for had not that dog accused him?—would be brought up again. But yet something must be done.
"Am I to be a prisoner here," said Todd, "while that infernal dog sits in the shaving chair, howling?"
Now and then, for the space of about half-a-minute, the dog would be quiet, but then the prolonged howl that he would give plainly showed that he had only been gathering breath to give it. Todd got desperate.
"I must and will shoot him," he said.
Going to a sideboard he opened a drawer, and took from it a large double-barrelled pistol. He looked carefully at the priming, and satisfying himself that all was right, he crept again to the parlour door.
"I must and will shoot him at any risk," he said. "This infernal dog will
be else the bane and torment of my life. I thought I had been successful in poisoning the brute as he suddenly disappeared from my door, but he has been preserved by some sort of miracle on purpose to torment me."
Howl went the dog again. Sweeney Todd took a capital aim with the pistol.
To be sure his nerves were not quite in such good order as they sometimes were, but then the distance was so short that how could he miss such an object as a Newfoundland dog?
"I have him—I have him," he muttered. "Ha! ha! I have him!"
He pulled the trigger of the pistol—snap went the lock, and the powder in the pan flashed up in Todd's face, but that was all. Before he could utter even an oath the shop door was opened, and a man's voice cried—
"Hasn't nobody seen nothing of never a great dog nowheres? Oh, there you is, my tulip. Come to your father, you rogue you. So you guved me the slip at last did you, you willain!"

JOHANNA S VISIT TO TODD.

Hector whined a kind of recognition of this man, but he did not move from the chair in Todd's shop upon which he had seated himself.
"Come, old fellow," said the man, " you don't want to be shaved, do you?"
Hector gave a short bark, but he wagged his tail as much as to intimate—"Mind, I am not at all angry with you." And indeed it was quite evident, from the manner of the dog to this man, that there was a good understanding between them.
"Come now, Pison," said the man, "don't be making a fool of yourself here any more. You ain't on friendly terms here, my tulip."
"Hilloa!" cried Todd.
The man gave a start, and Hector uttered an angry growl.
"Hilloa! Who are you?"
"Why, I'm the ostler at the Bullfinch oppesite."
"Is that your dog?"
"Why in a manner o' speaking, for want of a better master, he's got me."
The ostler, by dint of shading his eyes with his hands, and looking very
intently, at last saw Todd, and then he added—