“You may say what you like,” cried Bob, “I know the man; I saw the light twinkling through him—and more than that, his name’s Jericho.”
“What! the rich man that they’re always talkin’ about in the paper? The man that’s buying everything? The man that’s goin’ to have gold scrapers at his door, and lion’s head knockers cut out o’ diamonds? You’re a good fellow, Bob, though you know no more of the fares of town than the Babies in the Wood,—still you’re a good fellow, and I wouldn’t see you hurt. So you’d better say nothin’ against such folks as Mr. Jericho. Why, what are you to such as him? He’d put you into the Court of Chancery for scandal, and none of your dearest friends—not even the wife o’ your bosom with the biggest telescope as ever was, would ever be able to see a bit of you agin. Do mind what you’re about,” and the philosopher and friend pulled at the ale.
“Don’t tell me,” cried Bob; “that Jericho—oh, there’s something precious wrong there! A man can’t live with a hole in his heart, and the devil know nothin’ about it.”
A pelting shower came on; there was a sudden demand for cabs, and all Bob’s audience were speedily on their several boxes. He alone sat in the tap-room, pensive and puzzled.
“My good lad,” said the landlord of the Horse and Anchor, addressing Bob with considerable kindness—“my good lad, I like you, but take my advice—don’t give your mind to lying. A lie may do very well for a time; but like a bad shilling, it’s found out at last—it is, upon my word and honour. Still, if you must lie—if you can’t help it—tell lies about them as is your equals; don’t lie agin them that has money enough to eat you. Without salt!” added, in the way of exclamation, the Horse and Anchor.
“Breeks, my dear, I’ve long been sure of it, though I never said anything about it.”—
(The hole in the heart, reader, is now discussed beneath the roof-tree of Breeks, Jericho’s tailor; Mrs. Breeks much outraged in her feelings that her husband will continue to make for that serpent.)
“I never spoke—I never do ’till I’m forced—but as true as I wear a wedding-ring, I always used to feel hot and cold shivers when you came from measuring that creature. And some day, some twelve o’clock at night, take my word for it, he’ll be carried off in a red-hot chariot, with your clothes upon him.”
“Should be sorry, Julia, to lose so good a customer. To be sure, Mr. Jericho is not the man he was”—said Breeks.
“Man! There’s no doubt of it, he’s sold himself to Belzebub, and given a stamped receipt in his own blood for the money. Else I should like to know how a man could live with a hole in his heart.”