e house was really
opened. At that time the car with Fame and the long horn was
stationed in front of the men in armour, and there really was a
considerable concourse of people.

"This won't do, Mr. Brown," a policeman had said. "The people are
half across the street."

"Success! success!" shouted Mr. Robinson, from the first landing on
the stairs. He was busy correcting the proofs of their second set of
notices to the public.

"Shall we open, George?" whispered Mr. Brown, who was rather
flurried.

"Yes; you may as well begin," said he. "It must be done sooner or
later." And then he retired quietly to his work. He had allowed
himself to be elated for one moment at the interference of the
police, but after that he remained above, absorbed in his work; or if
not so absorbed, disdaining to mix with the crowd below. For there,
in the centre of the shop, leaning on the arm of Mr. William Brisket,
stood Maryanne Brown.

As regards grouping, there was certainly some propriety in the
arrangements made for receiving the public. When the iron shutters
were wound up, the young men of the establishment stood in a row
behind one of the counters, and the young women behind the other.
They were very nicely got up for the occasion. The girls were all
decorated with magenta-coloured ribbons, and the young men with
magenta neckties. Mr. Jones had been very anxious to charge them
for these articles in their wages, but Mr. Brown's good feeling had
prevented this. "No, Jones, no; the master always finds the livery."
There had been something in the words, master and livery, which
had tickled the ears of his son-in-law, and so the matter had been
allowed to pass by.

In the centre of the shop stood Mr. Brown, very nicely dressed in
a new suit of black. That bald head of his, and the way he had
of rubbing his hands together, were not ill-calculated to create
respect. But on such occasions it was always necessary to induce him
to hold his tongue. Mr. Brown never spoke effectively unless he had
been first moved almost to tears. It was now his special business
to smile, and he did smile. On his right hand stood his partner
and son-in-law Jones, mounted quite irrespectively of expense. His
waistcoat and cravat may be said to have been gorgeous, and from his
silky locks there came distilled a mixed odour of musk and patchouli.
About his neck also the colours of the house were displayed, and in
his hand he waved a magenta handkerchief. His