"Jemima, Jemima, it's four o'clock!" "I hear it, marm," replied the
cook; and she gave the frying-pan a twist, which made the hissing and
the smell come flying up into the parlour, and made me more hungry than
ever.

Rap, tap, tap! "There's your master, Jemima," screamed the lady. "I hear
him, marm," replied the cook. "Run down, my dear, and let Mr Handycock
in," said his wife. "He'll be so surprised at seeing you open the door."

I ran down, as Mrs Handycock desired me, and opened the street-door.
"Who the devil are you?" in a gruff voice, cried Mr Handycock; a man
about six feet high, dressed in blue cotton-net pantaloons and Hessian
boots, with a black coat and waistcoat. I was a little rebuffed, I must
own, but I replied that I was Mr Simple. "And pray, Mr Simple, what
would your grandfather say if he saw you now? I have servants in plenty
to open my door, and the parlour is the proper place for young
gentlemen."

"Law, Mr Handycock," said his wife, from the top of the stairs, "how can
you be so cross? I told him to open the door to surprise you."

"And you have surprised me," replied he, "with your cursed folly."

While Mr Handycock was rubbing his boots on the mat, I went upstairs
rather mortified, I must own, as my father had told me that Mr Handycock
was his stockbroker, and would do all he could to make me comfortable:
indeed, he had written to that effect in a letter, which my father
showed to me before I left home. When I returned to the parlour, Mrs
Handycock whispered to me, "Never mind, my dear, it's only because
there's something wrong on 'Change. Mr Handycock is a _bear_ just now."