"Don't do it!" said Mr. Cruncher, looking about, as if he ratherexpected to see the loaf disappear under the efficacy of his wife'spetitions. "I ain't a going to be blest out of house and home. I won'thave my vittles blest off my table. Keep still!"

Exceedingly red-eyed and grim, as if he had been up all night at aparty which had taken anything but a convivial turn, Jerry Cruncherworried his breakfast rather than ate it, growling over it like anyfour-footed inmate of a menagerie. Towards nine o'clock he smoothedhis ruffled aspect, and, presenting as respectable and business-likean exterior as he could overlay his natural self with, issued forth tothe occupation of the day.

It could scarcely be called a trade, in spite of his favouritedescription of himself as "a honest tradesman." His stock consisted ofa wooden stool, made out of a broken-backed chair cut down, whichstool, young Jerry, walking at his father's side, carried everymorning to beneath the banking-house window that was nearest TempleBar: where, with the addition of the first handful of straw that couldbe gleaned from any passing vehicle to keep the cold and wet fromthe odd-job-man's feet, it formed the encampment for the day. Onthis post of his, Mr. Cruncher was as well known to Fleet-street andthe Temple, as the Bar itself,-and was almost as ill-looking.

Encamped at a quarter before nine, in good time to touch histhree-cornered hat to the oldest of men as they passed in toTellson's, Jerry took up his station on this windy March morning, withyoung Jerry standing by him, when not engaged in making forays throughthe Bar, to inflict bodily and mental injuries of an acute descriptionon passing boys who were small enough for his amiable purpose.Father and son, extremely like each other, looking silently on atthe morning traffic in Fleet-street, with their two heads as near toone another as the two eyes of each were, bore a considerableresemblance to a pair of monkeys. The resemblance was not lessenedby the accidental circumstance, that the mature Jerry bit and spat outstraw, while the twinkling eyes of the youthful Jerry were asrestlessly watchful of him .

The head of one of the regular indoor messengers attached toTellson's establishment was put through the door, and the word wasgiven:

Having thus given his parent God speed, young Jerry seated himselfon the stool, entered on his reversionary interest in the straw hisfather had been chewing, and cogitated.

"Al-ways rusty! His fingers is al-ways rusty!" muttered young Jerry."Where does my father get all that iron rust from? He don't get noiron rust here!"