The Master Builder moved a little uneasily in his seat. For his own
part he thought no great harm of the roistering, gaming, and
gallantries of the Court dandies. He knew that the times were very
good for him. Fine ladies were for ever sending for him to alter
some house or some room. Gay young husbands, or those who thought
of becoming husbands, were seldom content nowadays without pulling
their house about their ears, and rebuilding it after some
new-fangled fashion copied from France. Or if the structure were
let alone, the plenishings must be totally changed; and Master
Charles Mason, albeit a builder by trade, and going generally
amongst his acquaintances and friends by the name of Master
Builder, had of late years taken to a number of kindred avocations
in the matter of house plenishings, and so forth. This had brought
him no small profit, as well as intimate relations with many a fine
household and with many grand folks. Money had flowed apace into
his pocket of late. His wife had begun to go about so fine that it
was well for her the old sumptuary laws had fallen into practical
disuse. His son was an idle young dog, chiefly known to the
neighbourhood as being the main leader of a notorious band of
Scourers, of which more anon, and many amongst his former friends
and associates shook their heads, and declared that Charles Mason
was growing so puffed up by wealth that he would scarce vouchsafe a
nod to an old acquaintance in the street, unless he were smart and
prosperous looking.

The Master Builder had a house upon Old London Bridge. Once he had
carried on his business there, but latterly he had grown too fine
for that. To the disgust of his more simple-minded neighbours, he
had taken some large premises in Cheapside, where he displayed many