He was still sweeping when I came out into the shop with Mr.Trabb, and he knocked the broom against all possible corners and obstacles, to express (as I understood it) equality with any blacksmith, alive or dead.
"Hold that noise," said Mr.Trabb, with the greatest sternness, "or I'll knock your head off!--Do me the favor to be seated, sir.

Now, this," said Mr.Trabb, taking down a roll of cloth, and tiding it out in a flowing manner over the counter, preparatory to getting his hand under it to show the gloss, "is a very sweet article.

I can recommend it for your purpose, sir, because it really is extra super.

But you shall see some others.

Give me Number Four, you!" (To the boy, and with a dreadfully severe stare; foreseeing the danger of that miscreant's brushing me with it, or making some other sign of familiarity.) Mr.Trabb never removed his stern eye from the boy until he had deposited number four on the counter and was at a safe distance again.
Then he commanded him to bring number five, and number eight.