Pressing business this time with Solomonson and Isaacs: they did not refuse now to hear her news, and act upon it too.
Disruption of the prodigal’s dreams.
Dire disgust in the Bloomsbury lodgings!
Before twelve o’clock that day, Allynne Markworth was removed in a cab under the escort of two sheriffs officers (much to the disgust of Mrs Martin, who had lent her prodigal lodger five pounds “until he could go to the bank,” as he said) to Chancery Lane—or rather a small street running out of the same.
He changed his lodgings a second time, from the worthy Mrs Martin’s first-floor to the apartments of a certain Abednego in Curseover Street, who keeps a court of reception—popularly know as a sponging-house, of the class immortalised by Hogarth—for gentlemen under a pecuniary cloud.
Markworth was arrested at the suit of certain confrères of Mister Abednego, twixt “Solomonson and Isaacs, solicitors,” on a writ for a largish sum of money, which he certainly could not pay.
Was the detainer heavy!
3,000 pounds and costs!
And he hadn’t a penny in his pocket but Mrs Martin’s five pounds!
Pleasant!