“She ain’t here. She’s gone upstairs,” said she, and upstairs she went, slapping the staircase with her shoes as she went. An individual with a round red face, a white hat, a spotted shawl, a coat nearly to his ankles, a long waistcoat, and a black clay pipe in his mouth, lounged elegantly out of the room which Mr. Conway had called his “Surgery” at the end of the passage, and leaning collectedly against the door, nodded familiarly to Holdsworth, took his pipe from his mouth, expectorated, and said “Morning.” “Good morning. Are you the man in possession?” replied Holdsworth. The individual nodded and replaced his pipe. “When did you come?” “Last night,” answered the man in a thick voice. “And a werry queer look-out it is. Blowed if they’ve got any butter in this house!” “What is the amount of the debt?” “Twenty-three pun four and sevenpence,” said the man, removing his pipe to expectorate again. “Are you a creditor?” “No,” answered Holdsworth, listening for Dolly’s footsteps. “Then if you vent on your bended knees for gratitood you vouldn’t be overdoin’ it,” said the man, giving Holdsworth a sagacious nod. “There ain’t above ten pound in the house, and not that. Cast yer eye into that parler. The best of the goods is there, and if you can make three pound out of ’em, I’ll swaller my pipe.” And then an idea smiting him: “You ain’t come to have a tooth drawed, have yer?” “No.” “Vot’s your opinion of tooth-drawin’?” inquired the man confidentially, retiring and reappearing again, holding up a pair of forceps. “Ain’t it rayther a queer go, don’t you think? I knew a barber as drawed teeth. He never used nothing of this kind. Vot do you think he did? Bust me if he doesn’t set you in a chair, fastens a bit o’ vire to the tooth as is to come out, and ties t’other end of the vire to the leg of a table. Ven all’s ready, ‘Mind yer eye’ he sings out, ups with a razor, rushes at yer makin’ horrible mouths, up jumps you, avays you run, and leaves your tooth behind yer!” He gargled an asthmatical laugh, adding: “That’s vot I call a sensible vay of drawin’ a tooth; no bits of cold iron shoved into yer mouth as if yer tongue vas hair and vanted curling.” “Please, sir, will you step into the parlour and sit down,” said the girl, thrusting her head over the banisters and calling to Holdsworth. “Missis’ll be with yer in a minute.” He entered the wretched little parlour, while the “man in possession” retreated to the surgery arm-chair, and sat severely contemplating some unfinished teeth on the table in front of him.