The doorway was hung with coats of every fashion of the last twenty years, and all in various stages of decay.

Some of them looked quite respectable, from much cleaning and patching; and others presented a reckless and forlorn aspect, as their worn and ragged sleeves swung about in the evening air.

Old hats, some of which were, in all probability, worn at a period anterior to the Revolution, kept company with the well-blacked shoes that were ranged on shelves beside the doorway, where they served in the capacity of signs, and fairly indicated the style of goods to be purchased within.
Seeing that there were no buyers in the store, Mr.Stevens opened the door, and entered.

The sounds of his footsteps drew from behind the counter no less a personage than our redoubtable friend Kinch, who, in the absence of his father, was presiding over the establishment.
"Well, Snowball," said Mr.Stevens, "do you keep this curiosity-shop ?" "My name is not Snowball, and this ain't a curiosity-shop," replied Kinch.
"Do you want to buy anything ?" "I believe I do," answered Mr.Stevens.

"Let me look at some coats--one that I can get on--I won't say fit me, I'm indifferent about that--let me see some of the worst you've got." Kinch looked surprised at this request from a gentleman of Mr.Stevens's appearance, and handed out, quite mechanically, a coat that was but slightly worn.