Mrs. Shelfer’s door was opened at my knock, not by her own little bustling self, nor even by shock-headed and sly "Charley," but by a short stout man of affable self-importance, with a semi-Jewish face, and a confidential air. He had a pot of porter in one hand and a paper-roll in the other, a greasy hat on his head, and one leg of his trousers had lost the lower half. Upon learning my name and object, he took no notice whatever of me, but put up his paper-roll for a trumpet, and shouted along the passage, "Balaam, here’s a kick! I’m bothered if it’s all lies, after all. Never dreamed the old gal could tell a word of truth. Had a higher opinion of her. Blowed if the young woman herself ain’t come!" "Easy there, Balak"--the mouth of the speaker was full--"keep the door, I tell you. Never gets a bit of time to my victuals. She’s up to a plant, I doubt. Just let me have a squint at her." Out came another man with a like appearance and air, and a blade-bone in his hand, whereat he continued to gnaw throughout the interview. It was indeed a squint with which he favoured me, and neither of them would move for me to pass. "Pray what is the meaning of all this?" I asked, in my grandest manner. "Surely I have not mistaken the house I lived in. This, I believe, is Mrs. Shelfer’s house?" Instead of answering me, they closed the door enough to put the slide-chain on, leaving me still outside, where, with boiling indignation, I heard myself discussed; the cabman looking on with an experienced grin. "Well, Balaam, now, and what do you think of that party?" "Uncommon fine young gal, and doosed mannersome too; but it don’t follow, for all that, that the thing is on the square, you know. Have she got any luggage, Balak?" "No, mate. And that looks fishy, now one come to think on it. Stop, let me have another look." "No; leave that to me. Slip the chain out, Balak: and keep your foot behind the door. She can’t push us both in without assault and battery." To my shame and indignation, I was subjected to another critical cross-fire from half drunken eyes. I turned my back and stamped in my vexation; the cabman gave me an approving nod. This little act of mine was so unmistakably genuine, and displayed such very nice embroidery--I do like a tasteful petticoat--that the hard heart of Balaam was softened; at the same moment a brilliant idea stole through his cautious mind. "Stop now, Balak, put your foot there. She can’t push us both in, I believe; leastways not without battery and contempt of court. Now what do you think of this?"--And he whispered to his grimy friend. "Well, that beats all I ever heer’d on. Let you alone for brains, Balaam, and me for muscle and pluck!"