It was not until he remained perfectly motionless, giving no sign of life, save by a dreadful stertorous breathing, that it entered into the head of the frantically amazed landlord to send for a doctor.
Upon the arrival of that skilled personage the truth was revealed, and Mr. Chewkle was placed in bed; and as, on examining his pockets, a good round sum was found, a nurse was provided to attend on him. The landlord, upon considerations of safety as he suggested, took possession of the money, leaving the empty purse in Chewkle’s pocket, and did not forget immediately afterwards to take an inventory of the damage done by his infuriated guest.
Mr. Chewkle, during his illness, raved about Mr. Grahame and Mr. Wilton; frequently acting as though he had the throat of the latter gentleman compressed between his hands and was squeezing life out. He called on Mr. Grahame to pay him well for “the job,” and threatened, unless he received “more bunce,” that he would provide him with a hempen collar at Newgate.
All these ravings were treated as such, and taken no heed of by those who heard them, though they were remembered afterwards.
Mr. Chewkle, after a few days, became conscious of his position; within a week he had a rough notion of the havoc he had committed, from the landlord, who dropped in to see how he was getting on.
The devil’s money never does anyone any good.
Mr. Chewkle reflected upon the bill he should have to pay for breakage, for attendance, and lodging at the inn, for the doctor’s professional services, and for “extras,” the extent of which he could not foresee.
As a principle he determined not to pay a farthing for one solitary item.
How to get out of it?
It seemed strange to him that he had not been asked for any money; that was a fact which, though singular, was advantageous and cheering, and he determined if a proposition to pay, as he went on, should be made by the landlord, that he would show him his gold and silver, but make an excuse for not parting with a shilling until he was convalescent.