floral oil painting

There was no fish for breakfast, and not much of anything else. Mr. Cruncher was out of spirits, and out of temper, and kept an iron pot-lid by him as a projectile for the correction of Mrs. Cruncher. in case he should observe any symptoms of her saying Grace. He was brushed and washed at the usual hour, and set off with his son to pursue his ostensible calling. ¡¡¡¡Young Jerry, walking with the stool under his arm at his father's side along sunny and crowded Fleet-street, was a very different Young Jerry from him of the previous night, running home through darkness and solitude from his grim pursuer. His cunning was fresh with the day,

and his qualms were gone with the night- in which particulars it is not improbable that 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?"