rom her
husband's face, in which she only partially succeeded; and it was almost
day when he crawled off to bed, with the skin half scraped off from his
swollen face.

CHAPTER XIX.

The Alarm.

Immediately after the departure of Mr. Stevens, Master Kinch began to
consider the propriety of closing the establishment for the night. Sliding
down from the counter, where he had been seated, reflecting upon the
strange conduct of his recent customer, he said, "I feels rather queer
round about here," laying his hand upon his stomach; "and I'm inclined to
think that some of them 'ere Jersey sausages and buckwheat cakes that the
old man has been stuffing himself with, wouldn't go down slow. Rather
shabby in him not to come back, and let me go home, and have a slap at the
wittles. I expect nothing else, but that he has eat so much, that he's fell
asleep at the supper-table, and won't wake up till bedtime. He's always
serving me that same trick."

The old man thus alluded to was no other than Master Kinch's father, who
had departed from the shop two or three hours previously, promising to
return immediately after tea.

This promise appeared to have entirely faded from his recollection, as he
was at that moment, as Kinch had supposed, fast asleep, and totally
oblivious of the fact that such a person as his hungry descendant was in
existence.

Having fully come to the conclusion to suspend operations for the evening,
Kinch made two or three excursions into the street, returning each time
laden with old hats, coats, and shoes. These he deposited on the counter
without order or arrangement, muttering, as he did so, that the old man
could sort 'em out in the morning to suit himself. The things being all
brought from the street, he had only to close the shutters, which
operation was soon effected, and our hungry friend on his way home.

The next morning Mr. De Younge (for the father of Kinch rejoiced in that
aristocratic cognomen) was early at his receptacle for old clothes, and it
being market-day, he anticipated doing a good business. The old man
leisurely took down the shutters, assorted and hung out the old clothes,
and was busily engaged in sweeping out the store, when his eye fell upon
the paper dropped by Mr. Stevens the evening previous.

"What's dis 'ere," said he, stooping to pick it up; "bill or suthin' like
it, I s'pose. What a trial 'tis not to be able to read writin'; don't know
whether 'tis worth keeping or