A gaunt, anxious-looking lady, in a massive bonnet, crossed the yard, with a basket in her hand; and the Professor said at once, "That's Mrs. Todgers, and the amount of gravy single gentlemen eat is still weighing heavy on her mind." As if to make the thing quite perfect, they discovered fitful glimpses of a tousled-looking boy, cleaning knives or boots, in a cellar-kitchen; and all the lawyers in London couldn't have argued them out of their firm belief that it was young Bailey, undergoing his daily torment in company with the black beetles and the mouldy bottles.
That nothing might be wanting to finish off the rainy-day ramble in an appropriate manner, when Livy's companion asked what she'd have for lunch, she boldly replied,—
"Weal pie and a pot of porter."
As she was not fond of either, it was a sure proof of the sincerity of her regard for the persons who have made them immortal. They went into an eating-house, and ordered the lunch, finding themselves objects of interest to the other guests. But, though a walking door-mat in point of mud, and somewhat flushed and excited by the hustling,