'
'Yes, it's me,' said the barber in a faint voice; 'I've just come in.'
'You're always a-comin' in, I think,' muttered Mrs Gamp to herself,
'except wen you're a-goin' out. I ha'n't no patience with that man!'
'Mrs Gamp,' said the barber. 'I say! Mrs Gamp!'
'Well,' cried Mrs Gamp, impatiently, as she descended the stairs. 'What
is it? Is the Thames a-fire, and cooking its own fish, Mr Sweedlepipes?
Why wot's the man gone and been a-doin' of to himself? He's as white as
chalk!'
She added the latter clause of inquiry, when she got downstairs, and
found him seated in the shaving-chair, pale and disconsolate.
'You recollect,' said Poll. 'You recollect young--'
'Not young Wilkins!' cried Mrs Gamp. 'Don't say young Wilkins, wotever
you do. If young Wilkins's wife is took--'
'It isn't anybody's wife,' exclaimed the little barber. 'Bailey, young
Bailey!'
'Why, wot do you mean to say that chit's been a-doin' of?' retorted Mrs
Gamp, sharply. 'Stuff and nonsense, Mrs Sweedlepipes!'
'He hasn't been a-doing anything!' exclaimed poor Poll, quite desperate.
'What do you catch me up so short for, when you see me put out to that
extent that I can hardly speak? He'll never do anything again.
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