The burial-club, Mrs. Sprowl meant, and Harriet evidently understood
the allusion.

"Have you walked?" went on the woman, doubling up her paper, and
then throwing it aside. "Dessay you could do with somethin' to take
the cold orff yer chest.--Liz," she called out to some one behind
the bar, with which the parlour communicated by an open door; "two
Irish!"

The liquor was brought. Presently some one called to Mrs. Sprowl,
who went out. Leaning on the counter, in one of the compartments,
was something which a philanthropist might perhaps have had the
courage to claim as a human being; a very tall creature, with bent
shoulders, and head seeming to grow straight out of its chest;
thick, grizzled hair hiding almost every vestige of feature, with
the exception of one dreadful red eye, its fellow being dead and
sightless. He had laid on the counter, with palms downward as if
concealing something, two huge hairy paws. Mrs. Sprowl seemed
familiar with the appearance of this monster; she addressed him
rather bad-temperedly, but otherwise much as she would have spoken
to any other customer.

"No, you don't, Slimy! No, you don't! What you have in this house
you pay for in coppers, so you know. Next time I catch you tryin' to
ring the changes, I'll have you run in, and then you'll get a warm
bath, which you wouldn't partic'lar care for."

The creature spoke, in hoarse, jumbled words, not easy to catch
unless you listened closely.