Two young men were in sight, both transacting business; one was conversing facetiously with a customer on the subject of a pledge.

Two or three gas-jets lighted the interior of the shop, but the boxes were in shadow.

There was a strong musty odour; the gloom, the narrow compartments, the low tones of conversation, suggested stealth and shame.
Pennyloaf waited with many signs of impatience, until one of the assistants approached, a smartly attired youth, with black hair greased into the discipline he deemed becoming, with an aquiline nose, a coarse mouth, a large horseshoe pin adorning his necktie, and rings on his fingers.

He caught hold of the packet and threw it open; it consisted of a petticoat and the skirt of an old dress.
'Well, what is it ?' he asked, rubbing his tongue along his upper lip before and after speaking.
'Three an' six, please, sir.' He rolled the things up again with a practised turn of the hand, and said indifferently, glancing towards another box, 'Eighteenpence.' 'Oh, sir, we had two shillin's on the skirt not so long ago,' pleaded Pennyloaf, with a subservient voice.

'Make it twoshillin's--please do, sir! The young man paid no attention; he was curling his moustache and exchanging a smile of intelligence with his counter-companion with respect to a piece of business the latter had in hand.