On gaining the attic floor where Mr Headstone's rooms were situated, Messrs Pyke and Pluck were disappointed to find their ingress prevented by the not uncommon occurrence of the door being closed against them. Having been assured by a short woman in yellow curl papers whom they had encountered on the upper landing that the pedagogue was at home, these two gentlemen were astounded at this breach of etiquette. For whilst a man might reasonably be allowed to close his door when he was abroad, it was a matter of delicacy and honour to leave it ajar whenever he sojourned within as both a sign of welcome and a mark of respect to any friend or acquaintance who might grant him the honour of a visit. Undeterred, and schooled in the polite ways of society, Messrs Pyke and Pluck rapped on the panels with the tops of their canes and accompanied this percussive performance with a harmonious chant of Mr Headstone's name, which they inserted quite ingeniously into the words of a song then popular in inns and taverns.
The commotion without was soon matched by a cacophony from within. The noise was that of a quantity of ironmongery being rattled and jostled together as might be occasioned by the endeavours of a desperate individual attempting to stow a number of lock boxes in a cupboard of dimensions inadequate to the purpose - or, at least, that is what it sounded like to Mr Pyke, who had put his ear to the door, and what it looked like to Mr Pluck, who had put his eye to the keyhole. After an interval the door was opened and Mr Headstone,smelling faintly of oysters and holding a stuffed owl under his arm, presented himself to his guests, and, apologising for the appearance of confusion and neglect that marked the interior of his apartments, suggested at once that they repair to the theatre for an evening's entertainment.
Mr Charles Dickens
