"Why it is rather late, Mr. Todd; but the fact is, I am going to York by
the early coach from the Bullfinch Inn, opposite, and I want a shave
before I get upon my journey, as I shan't have an opportunity you see,
again, for some time." "Very well, sir." "Come in, Charley." Todd started. "What's that?" he said. He felt afraid that it was the dog again, under
some new name. Truly, conscience was beginning to make a coward of
Sweeney Todd, although he denied to himself the possession of such an
article. Charley came in the shape of a little boy, of about eight years
of age. "Now you sit down, and don't do any mischief," said the father, "while I
get Mr. Todd to shave me. I am a late customer indeed. You see the coach
goes in two hours, and as I have got to call the last thing upon
Alderman Stantons, I thought I would be shaved first, and my little lad
here would come with me." "Oh, certainly, sir," said Todd; "I believe I have the pleasure of
speaking to Mr. Brown, the silversmith." "Yes--yes. The alderman gave me some jewels, worth about three thousand
pounds, to re-set, and though they are not done, I really don't like to
have them at home while I take such a journey, so I want to lodge them
with him again until I come back." Todd lathered away at Mr. Brown's chin, as he said with an air of
innocence--

"Can you carry so many jewels about with you, sir?" "So many? Aye, ten times as many. Why they are all in a little narrow
case, that would not hold a pair of razors." "Indeed!" Todd began the shaving. "And so this is your little boy? A sharp lad, no doubt." "Tolerable." "The whiskers as they are, sir?" "Oh, yes--yes." "I suppose you never trust him out alone in the streets?" "Oh, yes; often." "Is it possible. Well, now, I should hardly have thought it. What a
sweet child he looks, and such a nice complexion, too. It's quite a
pleasure to see him. I was considered myself a very fine child a good
while ago." Todd took care to lift the razor judiciously, so as to give Mr. Brown
opportunities of replying; and the silversmith said--

"Oh, yes; he's a nice little fellow. He's got his mother's complexion." "And he shan't lose it," said Todd, "if there's any virtue in
_pearlometrical savonia_." "In what?" "Oh, that's the name I give to a soap that preserves the complexion in
all its purity. I have only a small parcel of it, so I don't sell it,
but I give it away now and then, to my lady customers. Excuse me for one
moment." "Oh, certainly." Todd opened a glass case, and took out two pieces of soap, of a
yellowish tint. "There, Charley," he said as he handed them to the little fellow. "There's a piece for you, and a piece for mamma." "Really you are very kind, Mr. Todd," said Brown. "Oh, don't mention it. Run home at once, Charley, with them, and by the
time you get back your father will be--finished. Run along." "I won't," said Charley. "Ah, come--come," said his father. "I won't go, and I don't like soap." "And why don't you like soap, my little man?" said Todd, as he
recommenced operations upon the silversmith's face. "Because I don't like to be washed at all, it scrubs so, and I don't
like you, either, you are so dreadfully ugly--that I don't." Todd smiled blandly. "Now, Charley," said his father, "I am very angry with you. You are a
very bad boy indeed. Why don't you do as Mr. Todd tells you?" "Because I won't." "Bless him," said Todd, "bless his heart. But don't you think, Mr. B." --here Todd's voice sank to a whisper--"don't you think that it's
rather injudicious to encourage this obstinacy--if one may call it
such--thus early in life? It may, you know, grow upon the dear little
fellow." "You are right, Mr. Todd; and I know that he is spoiled; but I have a
more than ordinary affection for him, since, under most critical
circumstances, once I saved his life. From that time, I confess that I
have been weak enough to allow him too much of his own way. Thank you,
Mr. Todd. A very clean comfortable shave indeed." Mr. Brown rose from his chair and approached the little boy. "Charley, my dear," he said; "you will save papa's life some day, won't
you?" "Yes," said Charley. The father kissed him; as he added--

"How affected I feel to-night. I suppose it's the thought of the long
journey I am going." "No doubt," said Todd. "Good night, Mr. Todd. Come along, Charley." "Won't you give me a kiss, you darling, before you go?" said Todd. "No, ugly, I won't." "Oh, Charley--Charley, your behaviour to Mr. Todd is really anything but
right. You are a very bad boy to-night. Come along." Away they went, and Todd stood stropping the lately-used razor upon his
hand, as he glared upon them, and muttered--

"Jewels worth three thousand pounds! And so you saved the child's life,
did you? By all that's devilish he has returned the obligation." He went to the door and looked after the retreating figures of the
silversmith and his child. He saw with what tender care the father
lifted the little one over the road-way, and again he muttered--

"Three thousand pounds gone!--gone, when it was almost within my grasp. All this is new. I used not to be the sport of such accidents and
adverse circumstances. Time was, when by the seeming irresistible force
of my will, I could bend circumstances to my purposes, but now I am the
sport of dogs and children. What is the meaning of it all? Is my ancient
cunning deserting me? Is my brain no longer active and full of daring?" He crept back into his shop again. The hour was now getting late, and
after sitting for some time in silent musing he rose, and without a
word, commenced closing his establishment for the night. "I must have another boy," he said, as he put up the last shutter and
secured it in its place. "I must have another boy. This state of things
will not do. I must certainly have another boy. Tobias Ragg would have
suited me very well, if he had not been so--so--what shall I call it,
confoundedly imaginative. But he is dead--dead! that is a comfort. He is
dead, and I must have another boy." Bang! went Sweeney Todd's shop door. The beautiful moon climbed over the
house-tops in old Fleet Street. The clock of St. Dunstan's struck the
hour of eleven. The streets began to be thin of pedestrians, and the din
of carriages had almost entirely ceased. London then, although it was so
not long ago, presented a very different aspect at the hour of eleven to
what it does now. The old hackney-coaches had not been ousted from the
streets by the cabs and the omnibuses, and the bustle of the city was
indeed but a faint echo then, of what it is now. Time changes all
things. CHAPTER XLV. JOHANNA'S NEW SITUATION. "Johanna, attend to me," said Mrs. Oakley, upon the morning after these
events. "Well, mother?" "Your father is an idiot." "Mother, mother! I dissent from the opinion, and if it were true, it
comes with the worst possible grace from you, but I am sick at heart. I
pray you to spare me reproaches or angry words, mother."