No sooner had Mr Sampson Brass and Mrs Raddle departed the environs of Bevis Marks - leaving Miss Sally Brass in sole command of the attorney's offices and its contents of musty books, yellowed articles, dried jars of ink, and a second-hand wig box - than a commotion in the hallway announced the arrival of Mr Richard Swiveller, who, in the performance of his duties as the clerk of the aforementioned gentleman of law, had just returned from an errand delivering a letter to Peckham Rye. In the execution of this commission, Mr Swiveller had displayed that very spirit of initiative of which careers are made, and - entirely on his own cognisance - had delayed his return to the office in order to partake of some bread and beef and a pint or two of porter at The Old Red Cow in Clerkenwell.
The sun being hot and the porter being strong, Mr Swiveller, who had a liking but not a constitution for drink, found that his indulgence had temporarily deprived him of the co-ordination of his lower limbs. In consequence of which unfortunate state of affairs, he found himself measuring his length on the hallway carpet and staring up at the smoke-discoloured ceiling and the dust and cobwebs that were among the most prominent decorations of the office of Mr Sampson Brass. Here he intended to remain until such time as feeling returned to his extremities, and to while away the minutes he entertained himself with a rendition of several popular melodies.
Mr Swiveller's condition provoked much merriment in the small slipshod girl, whose principal duties in the house were to boil the kettle dry on a regular basis and rearrange the dust and cobwebs with a stunted broom, but failed to find much favour with Miss Sally Brass. Indeed, the lady looked upon the clerk's behaviour as a direct provocation, and, seeing an opportunity to return the compliment, she at once informed the prostrate clerk that his friend and fellow reprobate Mr Bradley Headstone was missing, and very likely presumed dead. On receiving the news, Mr Swiveller modulated his voice and, as a sign of respect for the late departed, sang a more melancholy refrain.
Mr Charles Dickens
