fit of his pious customers, had declared that "God encompasseth us." The "Goat and Compasses" in these days does quite as well, and, considering the present character of the house, was perhaps less unsuitable than the old legend.
"Is Mr. Austen here?" asked Mr. Sowerby of the man at the bar.
"Which on 'em? Not Mr. John; he ain't here. Mr. Tom is in—the little room on the left-hand side." The man whom Mr. Sowerby would have preferred to see was the elder brother, John; but, as he was not to be found, he did go into the little room. In that room he found—Mr. Austen, junior, according to one arrrangement of nomenclature, and Mr. Tom Tozer according to another. To gentlemen of the legal profession he generally chose to introduce himself as belonging to the respectable family of the Austens, but among his intimates he had always been—Tozer.
Mr. Sowerby, though he was intimate with the family, did not love the Tozers, but he especially hated Tom Tozer. Tom Tozer was a bull-necked, beetle-browed fellow, the expression of whose face was eloquent with acknowledged roguery. "I am a rogue," it seemed to say. "I know it; all the world knows it; but you're another. All the world don't know that, but I do. Men are all rogues, pretty nigh. Some are soft rogues, and some are 'cute rogues. I am a 'cute one; so mind your eye." It was with such words that Tom Tozer's face spoke out; and, though a thorough liar in his heart, he was not a liar in his face.
"Well, Tozer," said Mr. Sowerby, absolutely shaking hands with the dirty miscreant, "I wanted to see your brother."
"John ain't here, and ain't like; but it's all as one."
"Yes, yes, I suppose it is. I know you two hunt in couples."
"I don't know what you mean about hunting, Mr. Sowerby. You gents 'as all the hunting, and we poor folk 'as all the work. I hope you're going to make up this trifle of money we're out of so long."
"It's about that I've called. I don't know what you call long, Tozer, but the last bill was only dated in February."
