"And mind, if the man is rude and you dislike him--mind, you must not subject yourself to insolence and mortification." "Oh, all will go well, don't fear," said Philip, cheerfully, and he left the house.
Towards evening he had reached his destination.

The shop was of goodly exterior, with a private entrance; over the shop was written, "Christopher Plaskwith, Bookseller and Stationer:" on the private door a brass plate, inscribed with "R---- and -- -- Mercury Office, Mr.
Plaskwith." Philip applied at the private entrance, and was shown by a "neat-handed Phillis" into a small office-room.

In a few minutes the door opened, and the bookseller entered.
Mr.Christopher Plaskwith was a short, stout man, in drab-coloured breeches, and gaiters to match; a black coat and waistcoat; he wore a large watch-chain, with a prodigious bunch of seals, alternated by small keys and old-fashioned mourning-rings.

His complexion was pale and sodden, and his hair short, dark, and sleek.

The bookseller valued himself on a likeness to Buonaparte; and affected a short, brusque, peremptory manner, which he meant to be the indication of the vigorous and decisive character of his prototype.
"So you are the young gentleman Mr.Roger Morton recommends ?" Here Mr.
Plaskwith took out a huge pocketbook, slowly unclasped it, staring hard at Philip, with what he designed for a piercing and penetrative survey.
"This is the letter--no! this is Sir Thomas Champerdown's order for fifty copies of the last Mercury, containing his speech at the county meeting.