“Come, my little friend,” said Dr. B. to Oliver, “you did not put into the lottery, I understand. Choose from amongst these things whatever you please. It is better to trust to prudence than fortune, you see. Mr. Howard, I know that I am rewarding you, at this instant, in the manner you best like, and best deserve.”
There was a large old-fashioned chased gold toothpick-case, on which Oliver immediately fixed his eye. After examining it very carefully, he drew the doctor aside, and, after some consultation, Oliver left the room hastily; whilst the alderman, with all the eloquence of which he was master, expressed his gratitude to Howard for the advice which he had given his son. “Cultivate this young gentleman’s friendship,” added he, turning to Holloway: “he has not a title; but even I, Augustus, am now ready to acknowledge he is worth twenty Lord Rawsons. Had he a title, he would grace it; and that’s as much as I can say for any man.”
The Jew, all this time, stood in the greatest trepidation; he trembled lest the alderman should have him taken up and committed to gaol for his illegal, unlicensed lottery. He poured forth as many protestations as his knowledge of the English language could afford of the purity of his intentions; and, to demonstrate his disinterestedness, began to display the trinkets in his prize-box, with a panegyric upon each. Dr. B. interrupted him, by paying for the toothpick-case, which he had bought for Oliver.
“Now, Mr. Carat,” said the doctor, “you will please to return, in the first place, the money you have received for your illegal lottery tickets.”
The word illegal, pronounced in a tremendous tone, operated instantaneously upon the Jew; his hand, which had closed upon Holloway’s guineas, opened; he laid the money down upon the table, but mechanically seized his box of trinkets, which he seemed to fear would be the next seized, as forfeits. No persons are so apprehensive of injustice and fraud as those who are themselves dishonest. Mr. Carat, bowing repeatedly to Alderman Holloway, shuffled toward the door, asking if he might now depart; when the door opened with such a force, as almost to push the retreating Jew upon his face.
Little Oliver, out of breath, burst into the room, whispered a few words to Dr. B. and Alderman Holloway, who answered, “He may come in;” and a tall, stout man, an officer from Bow-street, immediately entered. “There’s your man, sir,” said the alderman, pointing to the Jew; “there is Mr. Carat.” The man instantly seized Mr. Carat, producing a warrant from Justice—for apprehending the Jew upon suspicion of his having in his possession certain valuable jewels, the property of Mrs. Frances Howard.
Oliver was eager to explain. “Do you know, Howard,” said he, “how all this came about? Do you know your aunt’s gone to Bow-street, and has taken the mulatto woman with her, and Mr. Russell is gone with her? and she thinks—and I think—she’ll certainly have her jewels, her grandmother’s jewels, that were left in Jamaica.”
“How? but how?” exclaimed Howard.
“Why,” said Oliver, “by the toothpick-case. The reason I chose that toothpick-case out of the Jew’s box was, because it came into my head, the minute I saw it, that the mulatto woman’s curious thimble—you remember her thimble, Howard—would just fit one end of it. I ran home and tried it, and the thimble screwed on as nicely as possible; and the chasing, as Mr. Russell said, and the colour of the gold, matched exactly. Oh! Mrs. Howard was so surprised when we showed it to her—so astonished to see this toothpick-case in England; for it had been left, she said, with all her grandmother’s diamonds and things, in Jamaica.”
“Yes,” interrupted Howard; “I remember my aunt told us, when you asked her about Cuba’s thimble, that she gave it to Cuba when she was a child, and that it belonged to some old trinket.—Go on.”