The String of Pearls (1850), p. 318

"Yes. Let me see. Ah, it's just a half hour nearly now, and your friend can go, although you are being shaved, and then by the time you are comfortably
finished off, the next quarter will be getting on. Charley ?"
"Yes, sir."
"Put on your cap, and go with that gentleman to St. Dunstan's. You must cross over the way, and then you will soon see the old church and the two figures as large as life, and five times as natural."
Johanna took up the cap she had worn in her disguise, and stood by the door.
"Why don't you go, Bill? said the grazier who was being shaved.
"Why, the fact is," said the other, "I would not give a pin's head to see it without you. Do you know, Mr. Barber, he makes such comical remarks at anything, that it's worth one half the fun to hear him? Oh, no, I can't go without him."
"Very good," said Todd, "then I'll finish him off, and you shall both go together in a few moments, though I am afraid you will miss this time of the chimes striking."
There was now a silence of a few moments' duration in the shop; but nothing in the shape of rage or disappointment was visible in the manner of Todd, although both of those passions were struggling at his heart.
"Now, sir," he said at length, and with a whisk he took the cloth from under the grazier's chair. "That will do; I thank you, sir. Towel and plenty of water in that corner, sir."
"Thank you,"
"No, I shall do," said the other grazier, in reply to a mute imitation from Todd to sit down in the shaving chair, "I shall do pretty well, I thank you, till to-morrow."
"Very good, sir. Hope I shall have the pleasure of your patronage another time, as well as your recommendation, gentlemen."
"You may depend." said the grazier, who had been shaved, "that we shall do all we can for you, and shall not lose sight of you."
Todd bowed like a Frenchman, and the graziers left the shop. No sooner was the door closed upon them, than his countenance altered, as if by magic, and
the most wofully diabolical expression came over it, as with eyes flashing with rage, he cried—
"Curses on you both! But I will have one of you, yet. May the bitterest curse of—but, no matter, I—"
"What, sir?" said Johanna. "What do you say, sir?"
"Hell's fury! what is that to you? Do dare you, you devil's cub, to ask me what I said? By all that's furious, I'll tear out your teeth with red-hot pincers, and scoop your eyes from their gory sockets with an old oyster knife, D—n you, I'll—I'll flay you!"
Johanna shrank back aghast. The pure spirit of the young girl, that had been used to little else but words of love and kindness, started at the furious and brutal abuse that was launched at it by Todd.
"Did I not tell you," he continued, "that I would have no prying—no peeping—no remarking about this or the other? I'll crush the life out of you, as I would that from a mad dog!"
A strange howling cry at the door at this moment came upon the ears of Todd.
His countenance changed, and his lips moved as though he was still saying something, but he had not power to give it audibly. At length, somewhat
mastering his emotion, he said—
"What—what's that?"
"A dog, sir."
"A dog! Confound all dogs."
Another howl, and a violent scratching at the door, was further and most conclusive evidence of the canine character of the visitor.
"Charley," said Todd, in quite a soft tone—"Charley."