The name of Miss Mowcher was announced and, in anticipation
of her entrance, Mr Headstone looked at the doorway and saw nothing. He was
still looking at the doorway, thinking that Miss Mowcher was a long while
making her appearance, when, to his infinite astonishment, there came waddling across
the floor a diminutive female individual, of about forty or forty-five, with a
very large head and face and a pair of roguish grey eyes. Her chin, which was
what is called a double chin, was so fat that it entirely swallowed up the
strings of her bonnet, bow and all. Throat she had none; waist she had none;
legs she had none, worth mentioning; she was so short that she stood at a
common-sized chair as at a table, resting a bag she carried on the seat. From
this bag she extracted the instruments of her trade and arranged them before
her. She tilted some of the contents of a little blue bottle on to a piece of
flannel, and, again imparting some of the virtues of that liquid preparation to
a little brush, began rubbing and scraping at the offending bear’s grease with
both until it had quite dissolved. Then with a wink and a flourish and - with a
sound like that of the weasel - the lady removed Mr Headstone’s hat from his
head and tossed it into the air. The fee for this service was five shillings,
which Mr Headstone willingly paid. Miss Mowcher tossed up his two half-crowns
like a goblin pieman, caught them, dropped them in her pocket, and gave it a
loud slap. Her work complete, the lady turned about and waddled off in search
of refreshment, followed by the admiring gaze of Mr Poll Sweedlepipe, Miss Mowcher being in his eyes the nonpareil of their
trade.
Mr Charles Dickens
