“This seems the dearest pair of boots you ever had in your life, Mr. Stubbs,” said Commissioner Dubobwig very archly, and then he began to inquire about the rest of my misfortunes.
In the fulness of my heart I told him the whole of them: how Mr. Solomonson the attorney had introduced me to the rich widow, Mrs. Manasseh, who had fifty thousand pounds, and an estate in the West Indies. How I was married, and arrested on coming to town, and cast in an action for two thousand pounds brought against me by this very Solomonson for my wife's debts.
“Stop!” says a lawyer in the court. “Is this woman a showy black-haired woman with one eye? very often drunk, with three children?—Solomonson, short, with red hair?”
“Exactly so,” said I, with tears in my eyes.
“That woman has married THREE MEN within the last two years. One in Ireland, and one at Bath. A Solomonson is, I believe, her husband, and they both are off for America ten days ago.”
“But why did you not keep your 2,000L.?” said the lawyer.
“Sir, they attached it.”
“Oh, well, we may pass you. You have been unlucky, Mr. Stubbs, but it seems as if the biter had been bit in this affair.”
“No,” said Mr. Dubobwig. “Mr. Stubbs is the victim of a FATAL ATTACHMENT.”