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Dengate the butcher read the letter, grew red in the face, and, after buttoning up that letter in his breast-pocket, he put on his greasy cap, and went to Topley the barber to get shaved. Dengate's cap was greasy because, though he was a wealthy man, he worked hard at his trade, calling for orders, delivering meat, and always twice a week, to use his own words, "killing hisself."
Topley lathered Dengate's red round face, and scraped it perfectly clean, feeling it all over with his soapy fingers, as well as carefully inspecting it with his eye, to make sure that none of the very bristly stubble was left. While Topley shaved, Dengate made plans, and as soon as the operation was over he went back home, and what he called "cleaned hisself."
Jem had been in the West India merchant's service from a boy, and no one was more surprised than he when on the death of old Topley, Josiah Christmas said to him one morning, "Wimble, you had better take poor old Topley's place." "And and take charge of the yard, sir?" "Yes. I can trust you, can't I?" "Oh, yes, sir; but " "Ah! Yes. You have no wife to put in the cottage."
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