Mrs. Crane observing that what he said was extremely sensible, Uncle Sam warmed in his confidence.
“And I thought I had him, till I found Mr. Losely in his sick-room; but ever since that day, I don’t know how it is, the lad has had something on his mind, which I don’t half like,—cracky, I think, my dear lady,—cracky. I suspect that old nurse passes letters. I taxed her with it, and she immediately wanted to take her Bible-oath, and smelt of gin, two things which, taken together, look guilty.”
“But,” said Mrs. Crane, growing much interested, “if Mr. Losely and Mr. Poole do correspond, what then?”
“That’s what I want to know, ma’am. Excuse me; I don’t wish to disparage Mr. Losely,—a dashing gent, and nothing worse, I dare say. But certain sure I am that he has put into Samuel Dolly’s head something which has cracked it! There is the lad now up and dressed, when he ought to be in bed, and swearing he’ll go to old Latham’s to-morrow, and that long arrears of work are on his conscience! Never heard him talk of conscience before: that looks guilty! And it does not frighten him any longer when I say he shall go to prison for his debts; and he’s very anxious to get me out of Lunnon; and when I threw in a word about Mr. Losely (slyly, my good lady,—just to see its effect), he grew as white as that paper; and then he began strutting and swelling, and saying that Mr. Losely would be a great man, and he should be a great man, and that he did not care for my money; he could get as much money as he liked. That looks guilty, my dear lady. And oh,” cried Uncle Sam, clasping his hands, “I do fear that he’s thinking of something worse than he has ever done before, and his brain can’t stand it. And, ma’am, he has a great respect for you; and you’ve a friendship for Mr. Losely. Now, just suppose that Mr. Losely should have been thinking of what your flash sporting gents call a harmless spree, and my sister’s son should, being cracky, construe into something criminal. Oh, Mrs. Crane, do go and see Mr. Losely, and tell him that Samuel Dolly is not safe,—is not safe!”
“Much better that I should go to your nephew,” said Mrs. Crane; “and with your leave I will do so at once. Let me see him alone. Where shall I find you afterwards?”
“At the Gloucester Coffee-house. Oh, my dear lady, how can I thank you enough? The boy can be nothing to you; but to me, he’s my sister’s son,—the blackguard!”
CHAPTER XVII.
“Dices laborantes in uno
Penelopen vitreamque Circen.”—HORAT.
Mrs. Crane found Poole in his little sitting-room, hung round with prints of opera-dancers, prize-fighters, race-horses, and the dog Billy. Samuel Dolly was in full dress. His cheeks, usually so pale, seemed much flushed. He was evidently in a state of high excitement, bowed extremely low to Mrs. Crane, called her Countess, asked if she had been lately on the Continent and if she knew Madame Caumartin, and whether the nobility at St. Petersburg were jolly, or stuck-up fellows, who gave themselves airs,—not waiting for her answer. In fact his mind was unquestionably disordered.