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His son obeyed, and the crowd approached; they were bawling and

hissing round a dingy hearse and dingy mourning coach, in which

mourning coach there was only one mourner, dressed in the dingy

trappings that were considered essential to the dignity of the

position. The position appeared by no means to please him,

however, with an increasing rabble surrounding the coach,

deriding him, making grimaces at him, and incessantly groaning

and calling out: "Yah! Spies! Tst! Yaha! Spies!" with many

compliments too numerous and forcible to repeat.

Funerals had at all times a remarkable attraction for Mr.

Cruncher; he always pricked up his senses, and became excited,

when a funeral passed Tellson's. Naturally, therefore, a funeral

with this uncommon attendance excited him greatly, and he asked

of the first man who ran against him:

"What is it, brother? What's it about?"

"I don't know," said the man. "Spies! Yaha! Tst! Spies!"

He asked another man. "Who is it?"