Bailey would roll up his sleeves to the shoulders and find his way all over the house, and wherever he went he made things lively. He wore an apron of coarse green baize. He would answer the door and then make a bolt for the alley, and in a moment be playing leap-frog, till Mrs. Todgers followed him and pulled him into the house by the hair of his head. When the two Miss Pecksniffs were sitting primly on the sofa, Bailey would greet them with such compliments as: “There you are agin! Ain’t it nice!” This made them feel very much at home. “I say,” he whispered, stopping in one of his journeys to and fro, “young ladies, there’s soup to-morrow. She’s making it now. Ain’t she putting in the water? Oh! not at all neither!” The next time he passed by he called out: “I say--there’s fowls to-morrow. Not skinny ones. Oh, no!” Presently he called through the keyhole: “There’s a fish to-morrow--just come. Don’t eat none of him!” And, with this warning, he vanished again. * * * * * By-and-by, he returned to lay the cloth for supper, it having been arranged between Mrs. Todgers and the young ladies that they should partake of an exclusive veal-cutlet together in the privacy of that apartment. He entertained them on this occasion by thrusting the lighted candle into his mouth, and exhibiting his face in a state of transparency; after the performance of which feat he went on with his professional duties; brightening every knife as he laid it on the table, by breathing on the blade and afterward polishing the same on the apron already mentioned. When he had completed his preparations, he grinned at the sisters, and expressed his belief that the approaching collation would be of “rather a spicy sort.” “Will it be long before it’s ready, Bailey?” asked Mercy. “No,” said Bailey, “it _is_ cooked. When I come up, she was dodging among the tender pieces with a fork, and eating of ’em.” But he had scarcely achieved the utterance of these words, when he received a manual compliment on the head, which sent him staggering against the wall; and Mrs. Todgers, dish in hand, stood indignantly before him. “Oh, you little villain!” said that lady. “Oh, you bad, false boy!” “No worse than yerself,” retorted Bailey, guarding his head, in a principle invented by Mr. Thomas Cribb. “Ah! Come now! Do that agin, will yer!” “He’s the most dreadful child,” said Mrs. Todgers, setting down the dish, “I ever had to deal with. The gentlemen spoil him to that extent, and teach him such things, that I’m afraid nothing but hanging will ever do him any good.” “Won’t it?” cried Bailey. “Oh! Yes! Wot do you go a lowerin’ the table-beer for then, and destroying my constitooshun?” “Go down-stairs, you vicious boy,” said Mrs. Todgers, holding the door open. “Do you hear me? Go along!”