The man with the horrible face looked, with the greatest surprise, up the court, and down the court, and in at the windows of the houses⁠—everywhere but at Sam Weller⁠—and took another step forward, when he was brought to again by another shout.

“Hallo, you sir!” said Sam, for the third time.

There was no pretending to mistake where the voice came from now, so the stranger, having no other resource, at last looked Sam Weller full in the face.

“It won’t do, Job Trotter,” said Sam. “Come! None o’ that ’ere nonsense. You ain’t so wery ’andsome that you can afford to throw avay many o’ your good looks. Bring them ’ere eyes o’ yourn back into their proper places, or I’ll knock ’em out of your head. D’ye hear?”