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J.M. Quigg, grocer, was elaborately attiring himself in the snug
sleeping room behind his store, at ten o'clock on the morning of the
eventful day. He little knew the tremendous importance of the part which
he was about to perform. He looked upon Overtop and Maltboy, not as the
expounders of a new social philosophy, but as cash customers to a
considerable extent, and as partners in defraying the heavy expenses of
a large double team. Mr. Quigg exercised the virtue of prudence even in
his dissipations, and derived pleasure from the reflection that he would
make his annual round of complimentary calls in an elegant turnout at a
moderate cost.
Therefore Mr. Quigg hummed pleasantly as he dressed himself, by the aid
of a large mirror which he had taken for a bad debt, and which was the
only ornament of the plainly furnished little room. Mr. Quigg was a man
of business, and never fretted with cravats, nor made himself unhappy on
the subject of hair. Three turns and a pull adjusted the former; and a
half dozen well-directed dabs with a stiff brush regulated the latter.


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