-when he noticed Frank's tall figure among the crowd.

"Come now, fireman, this is the wery harticle you wants. You comed out
to buy it, I know, an' 'ere it is, by a strange coincidence, ready-made
to hand. What d'ye bid? Six bob? Or say five. I know you've got a
wife an' a large family o' young firemen to keep, so I'll let it go
cheap. P'raps it's too small for you; but that's easy put right.
You've only got to slit it up behind to the neck, which is a' infallible
cure for a tight fit, an' you can let down the cuffs, which is double,
an' if it's short you can cut off the collar, an' sew it on to the
skirts. It's water-proof, too, and fire-proof, patent asbestos. W'en
it's dirty you've got nothin' to do but walk into the fire, an' it'll
come out noo. W'en it's thoroughly wet on the houtside, turn it hinside
hout, an' there you are, to all appearance as dry as bone. What! you
won't have it at no price? Well, now, I'll tempt you. I'll make it
_two_ bob."

"Say one," cried a baker, who had been listening to this, with a broad
grin on his floury countenance.

"Ladies and gents," cried the clown, drawing himself up with dignity;
"there's an individual in this crowd--I beg parden, this assemblage--as
asks me to say `one.' I _do_ say `one,' an' I say it with melancholy
feelin's as to the liberality of my species. One bob! A feller-man as
has bin burnt hout of 'is 'ome an' needs ready money to keep 'im from
starvation, offers his best great-coat--a hextra superfine,
double-drilled (or milled, I forget w'ich) kershimere, from the looms o'
Tuskany--for one bob!"

"One-an'-six," muttered an old-clothes-man, with a black cotton sack on
his shoulder.

"One-an'-six," echoed the clown with animation; "one-an'-six bid;
one-an'-six. Who said one-an'-seven? Was it the gent with the red
nose?--No, one-an'-six; goin' at the ridiculously low figure of
one-an'-six--gone! as the old 'ooman said w'en her cat died o'
apple-plexy. Here you are; hand over the money. I can't knock it down
to you, 'cause I haven't a hauctioneer's 'ammer. Besides, it's agin' my
principles. I've never knocked nothin' down, not even a skittle, since
I joined the Peace Society.

"Now, ladies an' gents, the next thing I've got to hoffer is a
harm-chair. Hand up the harmchair, Jim."

A very antique piece of furniture was handed up by a little boy, whom
Willie recognised as the little boy who had once conversed with him in
front of the choco