he

had compeers in Fleet Street and the City of London, that fine

morning.

“Father,” said Young Jerry, as they walked along: taking care to

keep at arm’s length and to have the stool well between them:

“what’s a Resurrection-Man?”

Mr. Cruncher came to a stop on the pavement before he

answered, “How should I know?”

“I thought you knowed everything, father,” said the artless boy.

“Hem! Well,” returned Mr. Cruncher, going on again, and

lifting off his hat to give his spikes free play. “he’s a tradesman.”

“What’s his goods, father?” asked the brisk Young Jerry.

“His goods,” said Mr. Cruncher, after turning it over in his

mind, “is a branch of Scientific goods.”

“Persons’ bodies, ain’t it, father?” asked the lively boy.

“I believe it is something of that sort,” said Mr. Cruncher.

“Oh, father, I should so like to be a Resurrection-Man when I’m

quite growed up!”

Mr. Cruncher was soothed, but shook his head in a dubious and

moral way. “It depends on how you dewelop your talents. Be

careful to dewelop your talents, and never to say no more than you

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

can help to nobody, and there’s no telling at the present time what

you may not come to be fit for.” As Young Jerry, thus encouraged,

went on a few yards in advance, to plant the stool in the shadow of

the Bar, Mr. Cruncher added to himself: “Jerry, you honest

tradesman, there’s hope wot that boy will yet be a blessing to you