"My man is a-wanting to see your man," said Mrs Mullins, with a flashing
eye; "and you know what about."

"And very natural, too," said Liza Gray; "but how are we to pay the
money we owe him, with such a tommy-book as this, good neighbour
Mullins?"

"We're as poor as our neighbours Mrs Gray; and if we are not paid, we
must borrow. It's a scarlet shame to go to the spout because money lent
to a friend is not to be found. You had it in your need, Liza Gray, and
we want it in our need; and have it I will, Liza Gray."

"Hush, hush!" said Liza Gray; "don't wake the little-un, for she is very
fretful."

"I will have the five shillings, or I will have as good," said Mrs
Mullins.

"Hush, hush, neighbour; now, I'll tell you--you shall have it; but yet a
little time. This is great tommy-day, and settles our reckoning for five
weeks; but my man may have a draw after to-morrow, and he shall draw
five shillings, and give you half."

"And the other half?" said Mrs Mullins.

"Ah! the other half," said Liza Gray, with a sigh. "Well, then--we shall
have a death in our family soon--this poor babe can't struggle on much
longer; it belongs to two burial clubs--that will be three pounds from
each, and after the drink and the funeral, there will be enough to pay
all our debts and put us all square."

The doors of Mr Diggs' tommy-shop opened. The rush was like the advance
into the pit of a theatre when the drama existed; pushing, squeezing,
fighting, tearing, shrieking. On a high seat, guarded by rails from
all contact, sate Mr Diggs senior, with a bland smile on his sanctified
countenance, a pen behind his ear, and recommending his constrained
customers in honeyed tones to be patient and orderly. Behind the
substantial counter which was an impregnable fortification, was his
popular son, Master Joseph; a short, ill-favoured cur, with a spirit
of vulgar oppression and malicious mischief stamped on his visage. His
black, greasy lank hair, his pug nose, his coarse red face, and his
projecting tusks, contrasted with the mild and lengthened countenance of
his father, who looked very much like a wolf in sheep's clothing.

For the first five minutes Master Joseph Diggs did nothing but blaspheme
and swear at his customers, occasionally leaning over the counter and
cuffing the women in the van or lugging some girl by the hair.

"I was first, Master Joseph," said a woman eagerly.

"No; I was," said another.

"I was here," said the fir