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little shop beyond。 A little shop； quite crammed and choked with
the abundance of its stock； a perfectly voracious little shop； with
a maw as accommodating and full as any shark's。 Cheese； butter；
firewood； soap； pickles； matches； bacon； table…beer； peg…tops；
sweetmeats； boys' kites； bird…seed； cold ham； birch brooms； hearth…
stones； salt； vinegar； blacking； red…herrings； stationery； lard；
mushroom…ketchup； staylaces； loaves of bread； shuttlecocks； eggs；
and slate pencil； everything was fish that came to the net of this
greedy little shop； and all articles were in its net。 How many
other kinds of petty merchandise were there； it would be difficult
to say； but balls of packthread； ropes of onions； pounds of
candles； cabbage…nets； and brushes； hung in bunches from the
ceiling； like extraordinary fruit； while various odd canisters
emitting aromatic smells； established the veracity of the
inscription over the outer door； which informed the public that the
keeper of this little shop was a licensed dealer in tea； coffee；
tobacco； pepper； and snuff。
Glancing at such of these articles as were visible in the shining
of the blaze； and the less cheerful radiance of two smoky lamps
which burnt but dimly in the shop itself； as though its plethora
sat heavy on their lungs； and glancing； then； at one of the two
faces by the parlour…fire； Trotty had small difficulty in
recognising in the stout old lady； Mrs。 Chickenstalker： always
inclined to corpulency； even in the days when he had known her as
established in the general line； and having a small balance against
him in her books。
The features of her companion were less easy to him。 The great
broad chin； with creases in it large enough to hide a finger in；
the astonished eyes； that seemed to expostulate with themselves for
sinking deeper and deeper into the yielding fat of the soft face；
the nose afflicted with that disordered action of its functions
which is generally termed The Snuffles； the short thick throat and
labouring chest； with other beauties of the like description；
though calculated to impress the memory； Trotty could at first
allot to nobody he had ever known： and yet he had some
recollection of them too。 At length； in Mrs。 Chickenstalker's
partner in the general line； and in the crooked and eccentric line
of life； he recognised the former porter of Sir Joseph Bowley； an
apoplectic innocent； who had connected himself in Trotty's mind
with Mrs。 Chickenstalker years ago； by giving him admission to the
mansion where he had confessed his obligations to that lady； and
drawn on his unlucky head such grave reproach。
Trotty had little interest in a change like this； after the changes
he had seen； but association is very strong sometimes； and he
looked involuntarily behind the parlour…door； where the accounts of
credit customers were usually kept in chalk。 There was no record
of his name。 Some names were there； but they were strange to him；
and infinitely fewer than of old； from which he argued that the
porter was an advocate of ready…money transactions； and on coming
into the business had looked pretty sharp after the Chickenstalker
defaulters。
So desolate was Trotty； and so mournful for the youth and promise
of his blighted child； that it was a sorrow to him； even to have no
place in Mrs。 Chickenstalker's ledger。
'What sort of a night is it； Anne？' inquired the former porter of
Sir Joseph Bowley； stretching out his legs before the fire； and
rubbing as much of them as his short arms could reach； with an air
that added； 'Here I am if it's bad； and I don't want to go out if
it's good。'
'Blowing and sleeting hard；' returned his wife； 'and threatening
snow。 Dark。 And very cold。'
'I'm glad to think we had muffins；' said the former porter； in the
tone of one who had set his conscience at rest。 'It's a sort of
night that's meant for muffins。 Likewise crumpets。 Also Sally
Lunns。'
The former porter mentioned each successive kind of eatable； as if
he were musingly summing up his good actions。 After which he
rubbed his fat legs as before； and jerking them at the knees to get
the fire upon the yet unroasted parts； laughed as if somebody had
tickled him。
'You're in spirits； Tugby； my dear；' observed his wife。
The firm was Tugby； late Chickenstalker。
'No；' said Tugby。 'No。 Not particular。 I'm a little elewated。
The muffins came so pat！'
With that he chuckled until he was black in the face； and had so
much ado to become any other colour； that his fat legs took the
strangest excursions into the air。 Nor were they reduced to
anything like decorum until Mrs。 Tugby had thumped him violently on
the back； and shaken him as if he were a great bottle。
'Good gracious； goodness； lord…a…mercy bless and save the man！'
cried Mrs。 Tugby； in great terror。 'What's he doing？'
Mr。 Tugby wiped his eyes； and faintly repeated that he found
himself a little elewated。
'Then don't be so again； that's a dear good soul；' said Mrs。 Tugby；
'if you don't want to frighten me to death； with your struggling
and fighting！'
Mr。 Tugby said he wouldn't； but； his whole existence was a fight；
in which； if any judgment might be founded on the constantly…
increasing shortness of his breath； and the deepening purple of his
face； he was always getting the worst of it。
'So it's blowing； and sleeting； and threatening snow； and it's
dark； and very cold； is it； my dear？' said Mr。 Tugby； looking at
the fire； and reverting to the cream and marrow of his temporary
elevation。
'Hard weather indeed；' returned his wife； shaking her head。
'Aye； aye！ Years；' said Mr。 Tugby； 'are like Christians in that
respect。 Some of 'em die hard； some of 'em die easy。 This one
hasn't many days to run； and is making a fight for it。 I like him
all the better。 There's a customer； my love！'
Attentive to the rattling door； Mrs。 Tugby had already risen。
'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 coul