"You don't suppose I meant you when I talked of silver things, do you ?" "Of course I am a silver watch." "You're a bigger muff than I took you for," replied the aristocratic tongs, turning his hall-mark towards me.

It was humiliating.

Of course I ought to have known I was not solid silver, and had no claim to class myself of the same metal as a genuine silver pair of tongs.
It was but one of many painful lessons I have had during my life not to give myself airs beyond my station.
These solid silver goods certainly constituted the "upper ten thousand" of our valuable and miscellaneous community.

When the time came for cataloguing us all, they separated themselves from the rest of us, and formed a distinct society, having their several names recorded in full at the head of the list.
What a scene it was the day the catalogue came to our department! I suffered a further humiliation then by being almost entirely overlooked.
A great tray of silver watches lay on the bench, brought together from all parts of the shop; and, to my horror, I found I was not among them.
"That's the lot," said the pawnbroker.
"Very good," said the auctioneer, who was making the catalogue; "shall we take leather bags next ?" "As you please," said my master.
"Hold hard," said the auctioneer, hastily counting the watches on the tray and comparing the number with a list he held in his hand, "there's one short." "Is there?
I don't know how that can be." "You've got twenty-two down here and there's only twenty-one on the tray." The pawnbroker looked puzzled.
"Better call over the number," said the auctioneer.

So my master called out the number attached to each watch, and the auctioneer ticked it off on his list.