“Oh, tell him to drive to THE BANK.”
Pore Dawkins! his eyes red with remors and sleepliss drunkenniss, gave a shudder and a sob, as he sunk back in the wehicle; and they drove on.
That day he sold out every hapny he was worth, xcept five hundred pounds.
. . . . . .
Abowt 12 master had returned, and Mr. Dick Blewitt came stridin up the stairs with a sollum and important hair.
“Is your master at home?” says he.
“Yes, sir,” says I; and in he walks. I, in coars, with my ear to the keyhole, listning with all my mite.
“Well,” says Blewitt, “we maid a pretty good night of it, Mr. Deuceace. Yu've settled, I see, with Dawkins.”
“Settled!” says master. “Oh, yes—yes—I've settled with him.”
“Four thousand seven hundred, I think?”