Isaac
Betts, and the leathern fire-buckets to be hung round the wall--"
Mr. Pomphlett emitted another groan, which the barber good-naturedly
tried to drown in talk. Captain Barker heard it, however.
"There it is again!"
"Yes, sir. You see Mr. Pomphlett allows his public spirit to run
high. He says--"
The little captain jerked round in his chair, escaping a gash by a
hair's-breadth, and addressed the heavy citizen--
"Mr. Pomphlett, sir, it was not for the sake of listening to your
observations upon public affairs that I came straight off my ship to
this shop, but to hear the news."
The barber coughed. Mr. Pomphlett feebly traced a curve in the air
with his pipe-stem, and answered sulkily--
"I s-said nun-nothing. I f-felt unwell."
"He suffers," interposed Mr. Pomphlett's neighbour on the settle, a
long-necked man in brown, "from the wind; don't you, Pomphlett?"
Mr. Pomphlett nodded with an aggrieved air, and sucked his pipe.
"Death," continued the man in brown, by way of setting the
conversation on its legs again, "has been busy in Harwich, Barker."
"Ah! now we come to business! Barber, who's dead?"
"Alderman Croten, sir."
"Tut-tut. Croten gone?"
"Yes, sir; palsy took him at a ripe age.
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