--here he is! Don't
look for him in me, at thirty shillings a week, but look for him in
Casby, at I don't know how much a year!'

'Good!' cried several voices. 'Hear Mr Pancks!'

'Hear Mr Pancks?' cried that gentleman (after repeating the popular
performance). 'Yes, I should think so! It's almost time to hear Mr
Pancks. Mr Pancks has come down into the Yard to-night on purpose that
you should hear him. Pancks is only the Works; but here's the Winder!'

The audience would have gone over to Mr Pancks, as one man, woman, and
child, but for the long, grey, silken locks, and the broad-brimmed hat.

'Here's the Stop,' said Pancks, 'that sets the tune to be ground. And
there is but one tune, and its name is Grind, Grind, Grind! Here's the
Proprietor, and here's his Grubber. Why, good people, when he comes
smoothly spinning through the Yard to-night, like a slow-going
benevolent Humming-Top, and when you come about him with your complaints
of the Grubber, you don't know what a cheat the Proprietor is! What do
you think of his showing himself to-night, that I may have all the blame
on Monday? What do you think of his having had me over the coals this
very evening, because I don't squeeze you enough? What do you think of
my being, at the present moment, under special orders to squeeze you dry
on Monday?'

The reply was given in a murmur of 'Shame!' and 'Shabby!'

'Shabby?' snorted Pancks. 'Yes, I should think so! The lot that your
Casby belongs to, is the shabbiest of all the lots. Setting their
Grubbers on, at a wretched pittance, to do what they're ashamed and
afraid to do and pretend not to do, but what they will have done, or
give a man no rest! Imposing on you to give their Grubbers nothing but
blame, and to give them nothing but credit! Why, the worst-looking
cheat in all this town who gets the value of eighteenpence under false
pretences, an't half such a cheat as this sign-post of The Casby's Head
here!'

Cries of 'That's true!' and 'No more he an't!'

'And see what you get of these fellows, besides,' said Pancks' 'See what
more you get of these precious Humming-Tops, revolving among you with
such smoothness that you've no idea of the pattern painted on 'em, or
the little window in 'em. I wish to call your attention to myself for a
moment. I an't an agreeable style of chap, I know that very well.'

The auditory were divided on this point; its more uncompromising members
crying, 'No, you are not,' and its politer