At the inner hall-door, another bottle seemed to be presented and another stopper taken out.

This second vial appeared to be filled with concentrated provisions and extract of Sink from the pantry.

After a skirmish in the narrow passage, occasioned by the footman's opening the door of the dismal dining-room with confidence, finding some one there with consternation, and backing on the visitor with disorder, the visitor was shut up, pending his announcement, in a close back parlour.
There he had an opportunity of refreshing himself with both the bottles at once, looking out at a low blinding wall three feet off, and speculating on the number of Barnacle families within the bills of mortality who lived in such hutches of their own free flunkey choice.
Mr Barnacle would see him.

Would he walk up-stairs?
He would, and he did; and in the drawing-room, with his leg on a rest, he found Mr Barnacle himself, the express image and presentment of How not to do it.
Mr Barnacle dated from a better time, when the country was not so parsimonious and the Circumlocution Office was not so badgered.

He wound and wound folds of white cravat round his neck, as he wound and wound folds of tape and paper round the neck of the country.