The people who live in the city
see him day after day, and remember how, in their childhood, they had
terrifying notions of his weakness for kidnapping and other mysterious
wickednesses. They know better now, and hurry past him with scarcely a
glance; but to the American visitor he is something of a curiosity.
[Illustration: "DUST-OH!"]
When the London fog is gray we cannot see him very far off, for he,
too, is gray from head to foot with ash-dust, and as he approaches us
he comes out of the mist like a phantom, though in reality he is a
substantial, square-built, deep-chested fellow, shod with enormous
Bluecher shoes (the soles of which are bright with nails), and clad in a
loose blouse and trousers, that are tied up about the knees. The blouse
is open at the chest, and is lifted to the waist by his big, brown
hands, which are tucked in his trouser pockets, and his head is covered
by the kind of hat that sailors call a sou'wester. His only ornament is
a pair of ear-rings; and with his head thrown back he saunters along
the street by the side of his cart, repeating in measured tones his
cry, "Dust-oh-oh! dust-oh!"
Now and then he stops at a house, and his mate--he has a mate, who is
as much like him as pea is like pea--descends into the cellar, bringing
forth the ashes and refuse that have accumulated in twenty-four hours,
and when the cart, which is a square, box-like affair, is filled he
starts for home with his load.
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