At ten o’clock sharp Mr. Headstone
presented himself at the bank in the full expectation of a cordial welcome, and
was met on the threshold by the prudent-looking youth of previous acquaintance.
This young gentleman was endowed with the office of light porter and with the
name of Bitzer; of which latter piece of singular information Mr. Headstone was
apprised by the repetition of those two unlikely syllables from the back of the
room, where a man with a great puffed head and the pervading appearance on him
of being inflated like a balloon was working himself up into a state of apoplexy
that – if left unchecked – could only result in a resounding explosion. Several
other individuals, who by their dress and severe demeanor Mr. Headstone
supposed to be clerks, were exhibiting similar expressions of agitation quite
at odds with the normal requirements of their employment. Mr. Headstone caught
one of these drudges by the sleeve and asked what the matter was, whereupon he
was informed that during the night, while the light porter was snoring in his sleep
in the room above, the bank had been robbed.
Mr Charles Dickens
