'Now then!' said that lady, passing out into the little shop.
'What's wanted? Oh! I beg your pardon, sir, I'm sure. I didn't
think it was you.'

She made this apology to a gentleman in black, who, with his
wristbands tucked up, and his hat cocked loungingly on one side,
and his hands in his pockets, sat down astride on the table-beer
barrel, and nodded in return.

'This is a bad business up-stairs, Mrs. Tugby,' said the gentleman.
'The man can't live.'

'Not the back-attic can't!' cried Tugby, coming out into the shop
to join the conference.

'The back-attic, Mr. Tugby,' said the gentleman, 'is coming down-
stairs fast, and will be below the basement very soon.'

Looking by turns at Tugby and his wife, he sounded the barrel with
his knuckles for the depth of beer, and having found it, played a
tune upon the empty part.

'The back-attic, Mr. Tugby,' said the gentleman: Tugby having
stood in silent consternation for some time: 'is Going.'

'Then,' said Tugby, turning to his wife, 'he must Go, you know,
before he's Gone.'

'I don't think you can move him,' said the gentleman, shaking his
head. 'I wouldn't take the responsibility of saying it could be