Between him and the girl was a glass case, in which were displayed shirts of the most elegant patterns and elaborate workmanship. Behind him were shelves, lined with boxes, also filled with shirts, whose prices were labeled on the outside of each box. At his right-hand, was the shop-window,--a small room in itself--flaring with gas, and crowded with shirts of all imaginable shapes--shirts with high collars, Byron collars, and shirts without any collars at all;--shirts with plaits large, small and infinitesimal--shirts with ruffles, shirts with stripes and shirts with spots;--in fact, looking into the window, you would have imagined that Mr. SCREW GRABB was a very Apostle of clean linen, with a mission to clothe a benighted world, with shirts; and that his Temple, "_the_ ONLY UNIVERSAL SHIRT STORE," was the most important place on the face of the globe. There, too, appeared eloquent appeals to passers-by. These were printed on cards, in immense capitals,--"SHIRTS FOR THE MILLION! THE GREAT SHIRT EMPORIUM! WHO WOULD BE _without a shirt, when Screw Grab sells them for only_ $1? THIS IS _the_ ONLY SHIRT STORE,"--and so on to the end of the chapter. The conversation which we have recorded, took place in this store, soon after 'gas-light' on the evening of Dec. 23d, 1844, between Mr. SCREW GRABB and the POOR GIRL, who stood before him, holding a small bundle in her arms. "You surely do not mean to retain my money?" said the girl--and she laid one hand against the counter, and attentively surveyed the face of Mr. Grabb--"You find fault with my work--" "Never saw _wuss_ stitchin' in my life," said Grabb. "But that is no reason why you should refuse to return the money which I placed in your hands. Consider, Sir, you will distress me very much. I really cannot afford to lose that five dollars,--indeed--" She turned toward him a face which, impressed as it was with a look of extreme distress, was also invested with the light of a clear, calm, almost holy beauty. It was the face of a girl of sixteen, whom thought and anxiety had ripened into grave and serious womanhood. Her brown hair was gathered neatly under her faded straw bonnet, displaying a forehead which bore traces of a corroding care; there was light and life in her large eyes, light and life without much of hope; there was youth on her cheeks and lips; youth fresh and virgin, and unstained by the touch of sin. "Will you give me them four shirts,--s-a-y?" was the answer of Grabb,--"them as you has in your bundle there?" The girl for a moment seemed buried in reflection. May be the thought of a dreary winter night and a desolate home was busy at her heart. When she raised her head she fixed her eyes full upon the face of Mr. Grabb, and said distinctly: "I will _not_ give you these shirts until you return my money." "What's that you say? You won't give 'em back--won't you?" and Mr. Grabb darted around the counter, yardstick in hand. "We'll see,--we'll see. Now just hand 'em over!"