"Those that know my habits know that I take half an hour's nap after dinner.

My constitution requires it, or I shouldn't take it.

If I didn't happen to have a strange warehouseman on my premises, you wouldn't have been allowed to disturb me two afternoons running." Finding Mr.Grewter unappeasable, I left him, and went to seek a more placable spirit in the shape of Anthony Sparsfield, carver and gilder, of Barbican.
I found the establishment of Sparsfield and Son, carvers and gilders.
It was a low dark shop, in the window of which were exhibited two or three handsomely carved frames, very much the worse for flies, and one oil-painting, of a mysterious and Rembrandtish character.

The old-established air that pervaded almost all the shops in this neighbourhood was peculiarly apparent in the Sparsfield establishment.
In the shop I found a mild-faced man of about forty engaged in conversation with a customer.

I waited patiently while the customer finished a minute description of the kind of frame he wanted made for a set of proof engravings after Landseer; and when the customer had departed, I asked the mild-faced man if I could see Mr.Sparsfield.
"I am Mr.Sparsfield," he replied politely.
"Not Mr.Anthony Sparsfield ?" "Yes, my name is Anthony." "I was given to understand that Mr.Anthony Sparsfield was a much older person." "O, I suppose you mean my father," replied the mild-faced man.