“Pooh, pooh! he’s all right,” says Aminadab; “let him alone.”
“In for what?” shouted I, quite amazed. “Why, sir, you arrested me for 90l.”
“Yes, but you are in for half a million,—you know you are. Them debts I don’t count—them paltry tradesmen’s accounts. I mean Brough’s business. It’s an ugly one; but you’ll get through it. We all know you; and I lay my life that when you come through the court, Mrs. Titmarsh has got a handsome thing laid by.”
“Mrs. Titmarsh has a small property,” says I. “What then?”
The three gentlemen burst into a loud laugh, said I was a “rum chap”—a “downy cove,” and made other remarks which I could not understand then; but the meaning of which I have since comprehended, for they took me to be a great rascal, I am sorry to say, and supposed that I had robbed the I. W. D. Association, and, in order to make my money secure, settled it on my wife.
It was in the midst of this conversation that, as I said, Gus came in; and whew! when he saw what was going on, he gave such a whistle!
“Herr von Joel, by Jove!” says Aminadab. At which all laughed.
“Sit down,” says Mr. B.,—“sit down, and wet your whistle, my piper! I say, egad! you’re the piper that played before Moses! Had you there, Dab. Dab, get a fresh bottle of Burgundy for Mr. Hoskins.” And before he knew where he was, there was Gus for the first time in his life drinking Clos-Vougeot. Gus said he had never tasted Bergamy before, at which the bailiff sneered, and told him the name of the wine.
“Old Clo! What?” says Gus; and we laughed: but the Hebrew gents did not this time.
“Come, come, sir!” says Mr. Aminadab’s friend, “ve’re all shentlemen here, and shentlemen never makish reflexunsh upon other gentlemen’sh pershuashunsh.”