Mr.  Cruncher's  temper  was  not  at  all  improved  when  he
came  to  his  breakfast.  He  resented  Mrs.  Cruncher's  saying
grace  vnth  particular  animosity.
"  Now,  Aggerawayter !  AVhat  are  you  up  to  ?  At  it
agin  ?  "

His  wife  explained  that  she  had  merely  "  asked  a  blessing."


JERRY  AT  HIS  POST.  63

"Don't  do  it!"  said  Mr.  Ci-uncher,  looking  about,  as  if
he  rather  expected  to  see  the  loaf  disappear  under  the  efficacy
of  his  wife's  petitions.  "  I  ain't  a  going  to  be  blest  out  of
house  and  home.  I  won't  have  my  wittles  blest  off  my
table.     Keep  still!"

Exceedingly  red-eyed  and  grim,  as  if  he  had  been  up  all
night  at  a  party  Avhich  had  taken  anything  but  a  convivial
turn,  Jerry  Cruncher  worried  his  breakfast  rather  than  ate  it,
growling  over  it  like  any  four-footed  inmate  of  a  menagerie.
Towards  nine  o'clock  he  smoothed  his  ruffled  aspect,  and,
presenting  as  respectful  and  business-like  an  exterior  as  he
could  overlay  his  natural  self  with,  issued  forth  to  the  occu-
pation of  the  day.
It  could  scarcely  be  called  a  trade,  in  spite  of  his  favourite
description  of  himself  as  "a  honest  tradesman."  His  stock
consisted  of  a  wooden  stool,  made  out  of  a  broken-backed
chair  cut  do^vn,  which  stool,  young  Jeixy,  walking  at  his
father's  side,  carried  every  morning  to  beneath  the  banking-
house  -svindow  that  was  nearest  Temple  Bar :  where,  with
the  addition  of  the  first  handful  of  straw  that  could  be
gleaned  from  any  passing  vehicle  to  keep  the  cold  and  wet
from  the  odd-job-man's  feet,  it  formed  the  encampment  for
the  day.  On  this  post  of  his,  Mr.  Cruncher  was  as  well
known  to  Fleet-street  and  the  Temple,  as  the  Bar  itself, —
and  was  almost  as  ill-looking.
