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?"

"About that--yes."

"That makes my share--let me see--two thousand three hundred and
fifty; which I'll thank you to fork out."

"Upon my word--why--Mr. Blewitt," says master, "I don't really
understand what you mean."

"YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I MEAN!" says Blewitt, in an axent such as I
never before heard. "You don't know what I mean! Did you not
promise me that we were to go shares? Didn't I lend you twenty