Before I could answer a word to this surprising address, he turned upon Sniggles, and, looking black as a thunder-cloud, cried,—
"Hah! Sniggles? What is the fellow doing here? dunning you for his money? The scoundrel! Hah! What!"
I thought he would have kicked the poor man out of the room, and so thought Sniggles also; for, though he exclaimed, "Touch me if you dare!" he ran to the door, where he looked vastly alarmed, and was able to muster only a single expression of resolution. "I asks my money," said he, "and dang me but I'll have it; for, as Mrs. Sniggles says, I'll not be diddled for nothing."
"Pay the rascal his dirty money, and then be done with him; leave his house, and patronise him no more," said Jack. Then turning to me, he made three skips into the air, clapped his hands, and running up to me and giving me a second embrace, cried,—
"Angels, horses, and women! hug me, kiss me, and lend me that five hundred dollars—your uncle has arrived!"
"Uncle! what uncle?" said I.
"Why your uncle Wiggins—your rich old uncle—your dad of an uncle—your bank and banker—your—But I say, Dawky, you'll lend me that five hundred, won't you? Saw him at the hotel—just arrived—asked anxiously for his nephew Dawkins;—bad look about the eyes—will die in a month; and then—then, my fellow! fourteen thousand a year, if it's fourteen hundred!"
"Fourteen thousand a year!" echoed I; the words were also muttered over by Sniggles. I caught the fellow's eye; he looked confounded and uneasy.
"If that's so," said he, "then I hope Mr. Dawkins will pay me my money, and not take no offence, for none wasn't intended."
"Pay you your money!" said Jack Tickle, stepping up to him in a rage; "no, you rapacious dun, he sha'n't pay you a cent. You shall sue him, and get judgment, and wait six months for your money."