CHAPTER XXX.
MRS. LOVETT’S COOK MAKES A DESPERATE ATTEMPT.
There are folks who can and who will bow like reeds to the decrees of evil fortune, and with a patient, ass-like placidity, go on bearing the ruffles of a thankless world without complaining, but Mrs. Lovett’s new cook was not one of those. The more destiny seemed to say to him—”Be quiet!” the more he writhed, and wriggled, and fumed, and could not be quiet. The more fate whispered in his ears—”You can do nothing,” the more intent he was upon doing something, let it be what it might. And he had a little something, in the shape of a respite too, now, for had he not baked a batch of pies, and sent them up to the devouring fangs of the lawyers’ clerks in all their gelatinous, beauty and gushing sweetness, to be devoured. To be sure
