The String of Pearls (1850), p. 317

CHAPTER LXX.
RETURNS TO JOHANNA.

We left Johanna in rather an awkward situation. The two graziers were in Todd's shop, and she—at the pronunciation of the word "pearl," which had
too forcibly at the moment reminded her of the String of Pearls, which no doubt had been fatal to Mark Ingestrie—had dropped the soap-dish, and covered her face with her hands.
"What is this?" cried Todd.
"What, sir?"
"What is that, I say? What do you mean by that, you stupid hound? If I only—"
He advanced in a threatening attitude with a razor in his hand; but Johanna quickly saw what a fault she had committed, and felt that, if she were to hope to do any good by her visit to Todd's shop, she must leave all such manifestations of feelings outside the threshold.
"I have broken it," she said.
"To be sure you have; but—"
"And then, you see, sir, I was overcome at the moment by the thought that as this was my first day here, how stupid you would think me."
"Stupid, indeed."
"Poor little chap," said one of the graziers. "Let him off this once, Mr. Barber—he seems a delicate little lad."
Todd smiled. Yes, Todd admirably got up a smile, or a something that looked like a smile. It was a contortion of feature which did duty for a piece of amiability upon his face; and, in a voice that he no doubt fully intended should be dulcet and delightful, he spoke—
"I'm quite a fool to my feelings and to my good nature," he said. "Lord bless you, gentlemen, I could not hurt a fly—not I. I used at school to be called Affectionate Todd."
"In joke?" said one of the graziers.
"No, gentlemen, no; in earnest."
"You don't say so! Well, my boy, you see no harm will come to you, as your master forgives you about the soap-dish, and we are in no sort of hurry."
"Well," said Todd, as he bustled about for another article in which to mix the lather. "Well, do you know, sir, I'm so glad to hear that you are in no hurry."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, sir; because, if you are strangers in London, both of you, it will give you an opportunity of seeing some of the curiosities, which will do for you to talk of when you get home, you know."
"Why, that would take too much time."
"Not at all, sir. Now, for example—Charley, my dear, whip up that lather—there's the church of St. Dunstan's, which, although I say it—Now, Charley, look sharp—is one of the greatest of London curiosities. The figures at the clock I allude to more particularly. I think you said the whiskers were to be left just as they are, sir?"
"Yes."
"Well then, gentlemen, if you have never seen the figures in the front of old St. Dunstan's strike the chimes, it's one of those things that it's quite a pity to leave London without watching narrowly. They may talk of the Tower, sir, or of the wild beasts at Exeter Change; but give me for a sight where there is real ingenuity, the figures striking the chimes at old St. Dunstan's.''
"Indeed?"