“Here, clean these shoes for number seventeen directly, and take ’em to private sitting-room, number five, first floor.”

The landlady flung a pair of lady’s shoes into the yard, and bustled away.

“Number five,” said Sam, as he picked up the shoes, and taking a piece of chalk from his pocket, made a memorandum of their destination on the soles⁠—“Lady’s shoes and private sittin’-room! I suppose she didn’t come in the vagin.”

“She came in early this morning,” cried the girl, who was still leaning over the railing of the gallery, “with a gentleman in a hackney-coach, and it’s him as wants his boots, and you’d better do ’em, that’s all about it.”