"I have squared it with the lad," says Mr. Bucket, returning, "and it's all right. Now, Mr. Snagsby, we're ready for you."
First, Jo has to complete his errand of good nature by handing over the physic he has been to get, which he delivers with the laconic verbal direction that "it's to be all took d'rectly." Secondly, Mr. Snagsby has to lay upon the table half a crown, his usual panacea for an immense variety of afflictions. Thirdly, Mr. Bucket has to take Jo by the arm a little above the elbow and walk him on before him, without which observance neither the Tough Subject nor any other Subject could be professionally conducted to Lincoln's Inn Fields. These arrangements completed, they give the women good night and come out once more into black and foul Tom-all-Alone's.
By the noisome ways through which they descended into that pit, they gradually emerge from it, the crowd flitting, and whistling, and skulking about them until they come to the verge, where restoration of the bull's-eyes is made to Darby. Here the crowd, like a concourse of imprisoned demons, turns back, yelling, and is seen no more. Through the clearer and fresher streets, never so clear and fresh to Mr. Snagsby's mind as now, they walk and ride until they come to Mr. Tulkinghorn's gate.

"I have squared it with the lad," says Mr. Bucket, returning, "and it's all right. Now, Mr. Snagsby, we're ready to go."
First, Jo has to complete his errand of good nature by handing over the medicine he has been to get, which he delivers with the instruction that "it's to be all took d'rectly." Secondly, Mr. Snagsby has to lay upon the table half a crown. Thirdly, Mr. Bucket has to take Jo by the arm above the elbow and walk him on before him, so that he is professionally conducted to Lincoln's Inn Fields. They give the women good night and come out once more into black and foul Tom-all-Alone's.
By the noisome ways through which they descended into that pit, they gradually emerge from it, the crowd flitting and skulking about them until it turns back, yelling like a concourse of imprisoned demons, and is seen no more. Through the clearer and fresher streets, never so clear and fresh to Mr. Snagsby's mind as now, they walk and ride to Mr. Tulkinghorn's gate.
