always up and brushed, spick-and-span, at seven o'clock; and
had gone through his books, and given out the work for the journeymen,
and eaten a hearty breakfast of rashers of bacon, before Eglantine had
put the usual pound of grease to his hair (his fingers were always as
damp and shiny as if he had them in a pomatum-pot), and arranged his
figure for the day.

"Here's a gent wants you in the shop," says Mr. Mossrose, leaving the
door of communication wide open.

"Say I'm in bed, Mr. Mossrose; I'm out of sperrets, and really can see
nobody."

"It's someone from Vindsor, I think; he's got the royal button," says
Mossrose.

"It's me--Woolsey," shouted the little man from the shop.

Mr. Eglantine at this jumped up, made a rush to the door leading to his
private apartment, and disappeared in a twinkling. But it must not be
imagined that he fled in order to avoid Mr. Woolsey. He only went away
for one minute just to put on his belt, for he was ashamed to be seen
without it by his rival.

This being assumed, and his toilet somewhat arranged, Mr. Woolsey was
admitted into his private room. And Mossrose would have heard every
word of the conversation between those two gentlemen, had not Woolsey,
opening the door, suddenly pounced on the assistant, taken him by
the collar, and told him to disappear altogether into the shop: which
Mossrose did; vowing he would have his revenge.

The subject on which Woolsey had come to treat was an important one.
"Mr. Eglantine," says he, "there's no use disguising from one another
that we are both of us in love with Miss Morgiana, and that our chances
up to this time have been pretty equal. But that Captain whom you
introduced, like an ass as you were--"

"An ass, Mr. Woolsey! I'd have you to know, sir, that I'm no more a hass
than you are, sir; and as for introducing the Captain, I did no such
thing."

"Well, well, he's got a-poaching into our preserves somehow. He's
evidently sweet upon the young woman, and is a more fashionable chap
than either of us two. We must get him out of the house, sir--we must
circumwent him; and THEN, Mr. Eglantine, will be time enough for you and
me to try which is the best man."

"HE the best man?" thought Eglantine; "the little bald unsightly
tailor-creature! A man with no more soul than his smoothing-hiron!" The
perfumer, as may be imagined, did not utter this sentiment aloud, but
expressed himself quite willing to enter into any HAMICABLE arrangemen