“Dolt!” growled the solicitor, angrily.
He sat down and penned a note to Mr. Grahame, stating that his managing clerk—as the business was being pushed on—had the deed under his charge; he was at the moment down at Westminster engaged upon a cause, but that on his return the deed should be forwarded to Mr. Grahame.
Folding up his note, and directing it, he gave it to Chewkle, saying—
“Deliver that to Mr. Grahame;” turning sharply to his clerk, he added, “Mr. Crumpler, show him out.”
Mr. Crumpler caught Chewkle by the coat sleeve, drew him into the outer office, and pointed significantly to “the way out.” Chewkle exhibited his teeth—no mistaking them for pearls—to Mr. Crumpler, and obeyed the sign. He descended the stairs rapidly, and moved along the footway of the street, quivering in the throes of what he considered an immense triumph.
“A hincome for life,” he muttered, “that deed will be as good as a ’nuity to me. I can bleed Grahame of jest whatever I pleases by threatening of him. I ain’t agoin’ to let him know I’ve got the forged hinstru-ment, but I shall, in good time, ’int as I knows where it is, and I can keep it dark, or blow it, jest whichever I likes. ‘Find it and send it up,’ ha! ha! by Mr. Walker I s’pose. They little thinks I nabbed it, none of ’em will ever dream o’ that—I could lay a ’undred to one about that, I could.”
As he offered to lay these very long odds, he ran up against Nathan Gomer.
The visage of the little man shone like burnished gold. His eyes danced and sparkled, and he chuckled as if animated by the most pleasurable emotions.
“Aha! friend Chewkle,” he exclaimed, placing his cold, fishy hand upon Chewkle’s fevered wrist; “you are active this morning—full of business—away from home to a lawyer’s office—then hurrying back in a cab to your charmingly retired abode—away in a cab back to the solicitors, and now, ha! ha! eh? I’ll be sworn to Mr. Grahame’s, in the Regent’s Park, with a communication—I say a communication, he! he! Brisk fellow, sharp fellow, smart dog.” He poked Chewkle in the ribs, and Chewkle felt as if the dent his finger made remained, and would continue a hole for the rest of his life. “Oh” continued Nathan, “I am so partial to sharp fellows, especially when they move about so nimbly to serve others, without a thought of serving themselves, eh, friend Chewkle?—I say without one thought of doing themselves a small turn.”
Chewkle tried to laugh, but no sound issued from his distended jaws. He felt his flesh crawl and creep over his bones, and his marrow vibrate; his scalp seemed to have the “pins and needles,” and his hair to rise slowly up, dust and all, threatening to tilt his hat into the mud.