remember the day; it was November the thirtieth, 1824. Having been the last person to cut that party, my governor gave me leave to go and see the execution at Newgate. Such a crowd I have never seen before or since; but, Mr. Fauntleroy bore himself like a man, and passed away quite quietly. Yes, sir; you see before you the very same individual who was the last person to cut a party who was hung for forgeries that cost the Bank of England three hundred and sixty thousand pounds." Mr. Quickfall mentioned this sum very slowly and with great unction, as though the extent of the crime in some way reflected credit upon himself.
"I, also, must cut a party, for I must cut away from you," said little Mr. Bouncer, as he rose to his feet, and endeavoured to shake himself free from the semblance of a parcel. "I 'm not a wedding guest, and you 're not an ancient mariner; and, if I stop to hear any more of your rummy nuisances—that is to say, reminiscences—I shall miss my train."
"But, I 've only cut your hair on one side, sir!" remonstrated Mr. Quickfall.
"All the same, I can't wait to have the other side cut; so, I must journey up to Town half shorn." And Mr. Bouncer meant what he said; for, he freed himself from the cotton wrapper, and, despite the entreaties of Mr. Quickfall, quitted that person's spacious hair-cutting saloon, its proprietor being "left lamenting," like Lord Ullin in Campbell's ballad, but firmly refusing to take his customer's sixpence, on the ground that, if he were paid for an incompleted job, it might provide his implacable foe, Tarver, with a stinging taunt against him as a member of the Town Council of Barham.
