He smiled as he came in. "Well," said I, "you have touched your money; and now, I must tell you, that you are the most infernal rogue and extortioner I ever met with."
"O no, mishter Shtubbsh," says he, grinning still, "dere is som greater roag dan me,—mosh greater."
"Fellow," says I, "don't stand grinning before a gentleman; but give me my hat and cloak, and let me leave your filthy den."
"Shtop, Shtubbsh," says he, not even Mistering me this time, "here ish a letter, vich you had better read."
I opened the letter: something fell to the ground:—it was my cheque.
The letter ran thus: "Messrs. Child and Co. present their compliments to Captain Stubbs, and regret that they have been obliged to refuse payment of the enclosed, having been served this day with an attachment by Messrs. Solomonson and Co., which compels them to retain Captain Stubbs's balance of £2010 11s. 6d. until the decision of the suit of Solomonson v. Stubbs.
"Fleet Street."
"You see," says Mr. Nabb, as I read this dreadful letter, "you see, Shtubbsh, dere vas two debts,—a littel von, and a big von. So dey arrested you for de littel von, and attashed your money for de big von."
Don't laugh at me for telling this story: if you knew what tears are blotting over the paper as I write it; if you knew that for weeks after I was more like a madman than a sane man,—a madman in the Fleet Prison, where I went, instead of to the desert island. What had I done to deserve it? Hadn't I always kept an eye to the main chance? Hadn't I lived economically, and not like other young men? Had I ever been known to squander or give away a single penny? No! I can lay my hand on my heart, and, thank Heaven, say, No! Why—why was I punished so?