It warn't long after that, that I read in the newspaper of Mr. Chops's being presented at court. It was printed:
"It will be recollected"—and I've noticed in my life that it is sure to be printed that it will be recollected whenever it won't—"that Mr. Chops is the individual of small stature whose brilliant success in the last State Lottery attracted so much attention."
"Well," I said to myself, "such is life! He has done it in earnest at last! He has astonished George the Fourth!"
On account of which I had that canvas new painted, him with a bag of money in his hand, a presentin' it to George the Fourth, and a lady in ostrich feathers fallin' in love with him in a bagwig, sword, and buckles correct.
I took the house as is the subject of present inquiries—though not the honor of being acquainted—and I run Magsman's Amusements in it thirteen months—sometimes one thing, sometimes another, sometimes nothin' particular, but always all the canvases outside. One night, when we had played the last company out, which was a shy company through its raining heavens hard, I was takin' a pipe in the one pair back, along with the young man with the toes, which I had taken on for a month (though he never drawed—except on paper), and I heard a kickin' at the street door.
"Halloa!" I says to the young man, "what's up?"
He rubs his eye-brows with his toes, and he says:
"I can't imagine, Mr. Magsman"—which he never could imagine nothin', and was monotonous company.
The noise not leavin' off, I laid down my pipe, and I took up a candle, and I went down and opened the door. I looked out into the street; but nothin' could I see, and nothin' was I aware of, until I turned round quick, because some creeter run between my legs into the passage.
There was Mr. Chops!