He was not long in reaching the desired spot. The cabman drew up at the end of the narrow passage leading to the most fashionable of the Old Clothes Marts, and Mr. Sandboys having paid the driver well for the haste he had made, proceeded at once to plunge into the vortex of the musty market. Outside the gateway stood the celebrated “Barney Aaron,” the hook-nosed janitor, with his hook-nosed son by his side—the father ready to receive the halfpenny toll from each of the buyers and sellers as he entered the Exchange, and the youth with a leathern pouch filled with “coppers,” to give as change for any silver that might be tendered. As Cursty passed through the gate, the stench of the congregated old clothes and rags and hareskins was almost overpowering. The place stank like a close damp cellar. There was that peculiar sour smell in the atmosphere which appertains to stale infants, blended with the mildewy odour of what is termed “mother”—a mixture of mouldiness, mustiness, and fustiness, that was far from pleasant in the nostrils. Scarcely had Cursty entered the Mart before he was surrounded by some half-dozen eager Jews, some with long grizzly beards, and others in greasy gaberdines—each seizing him by the arm, or pulling him by his coat, or tapping him on the shoulder, as they one and all clamoured for a sight of whatever he might have to sell. “Ha’ you cot any preaking?” asked one who bought old coats to cut up into cloth caps—“cot any fushtian—old cordsh—or old pootsh?” “I’m shure you’ve shometing vot will shoot me,” cried another. “You know me,” said a third—“I’m little Ikey, the pest of puyersh, and always give a cood prishe.” Such was the anxiety and eagerness of the Israelites, that it was more than Mr. Sandboys could do to force his way through them, and it was not until a new-comer entered with a sack at his back, that they left him to hurry off and feel the old clothes-bag, as they clamoured for first peep at its contents. Once in the body of the Market, Cursty had time to look well about him, and a curious sight it was—perhaps one of the most curious in all London. He had never heard, never dreamt of there being such a place. A greater bustle and eagerness appear to rage among the buyers of the refuse of London, than among the traders in its most valuable commodities.