In that room he found--Mr.
Austen, junior, according to one arrangement of nomenclature, and Mr.
Tom Tozer according to another. To gentlemen of the legal profession
he generally chose to introduce himself as belonging to the
respectable family of the Austens; but among his intimates he had
always been--Tozer. Mr. Sowerby, though he was intimate with the
family, did not love the Tozers: but he especially hated Tom Tozer.
Tom Tozer was a bull-necked, beetle-browed fellow, the expression of
whose face was eloquent with acknowledged roguery. "I am a rogue,"
it seemed to say. "I know it; all the world knows it: but you're
another. All the world don't know that, but I do. Men are all rogues,
pretty nigh. Some are soft rogues, and some are 'cute rogues. I am a
'cute one; so mind your eye." It was with such words that Tom Tozer's
face spoke out; and though a thorough liar in his heart, he was not a
liar in his face. "Well, Tozer," said Mr. Sowerby, absolutely shaking
hands with the dirty miscreant, "I wanted to see your brother."
"John ain't here, and ain't like; but it's all as one."
"Yes, yes; I suppose it is. I know you two hunt in couples."
"I don't know what you mean about hunting, Mr. Sowerby. You gents 'as
all the hunting, and we poor folk 'as all the work.
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