"How's scrip, Mr. Jeames?" said we pleasantly, greeting our esteemed
contributor.
"Scrip be ----," replied he, with an expression we cannot repeat, and
a look of agony it is impossible to describe in print, and walked
about the parlor whistling, humming, rattling his keys and coppers, and
showing other signs of agitation. At last, "MR. PUNCH," says he, after
a moment's hesitation, "I wish to speak to you on a pint of businiss.
I wish to be paid for my contribewtions to your paper. Suckmstances is
altered with me. I--I--in a word, CAN you lend me --L. for the account?"
He named the sum. It was one so great that we don't care to mention
it here; but on receiving a cheque for the amount (on Messrs. Pump and
Aldgate, our bankers,) tears came into the honest fellow's eyes. He
squeezed our hand until he nearly wrung it off, and shouting to a cab,
he plunged into it at our office-door, and was off to the City.
Returning to our study, we found he had left on our table an open
pocket-book, of the contents of which (for the sake of safety) we took
an inventory. It contained--three tavern-bills, paid; a tailor's ditto,
unsettled; forty-nine allotments in different companies, twenty-six
thousand seven hundred shares in all, of which the market value we take,
on an average, to be 1/4 discount; and in an old bit of paper tied with
pink ribbon a lock of chestnut hair, with the initials M.
Pages:
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144