Every thing gleamed from resent scrubbing and polishing; the floor only emphasised its purity by a little track where a child's shoes had brought in mud from the street; doubtless it had been washed over since the Sunday morning's custom had subsided.

Wherever the walls would have confessed their bareness the enterprising tradesman had hung gorgeous advertising cards.

At the sound of the visitors' footsteps, the door leading out of the shop into the parlour behind opened briskly, a head having previously appeared over the red curtain, and Mr.O'Gree, in the glory of Sunday attire, rushed forward with eager hands.

His welcome was obstreperous.
"Waymark, you're a brick! Mr.Casti, I'm rejoiced to receive you in my establishment! You're neither a minute too soon nor a minute too late.
Mrs.O'Gree only this moment called out from the kitchen that the kettle was boiling and the crumpets at the point of perfection! I knew your punctuality of old, Waymark.

Mr.Casti, how does it strike you?
Roaring trade, Waymark! Done two shillings and threepence three farthings this Sunday morning.