University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.
Sheppard Lee hears news of his uncle, and Mr. Sniggles is brought
to his senses.

In the midst of my troubles, up comes my friend
Tickle and pops into the room. He gave a stare
at Sniggles, and next a grin; and then, just as I
was looking to be laughed at, he made a spring
and caught me round the neck, crying, with uncommon
exultation and eagerness,—

“I congratulate you, Dawkins, you dog! and,
mind, you must lend me five hundred dollars tomorrow!”

Before I could answer a word to this surprising
address, he turned upon Sniggles, and, looking
black as a thunder-cloud, cried,—

“Hah! Sniggles? What is the fellow doing
here? dunning you for his money? The scoundrel!
Hah! What!”

I thought he would have kicked the poor man
out of the room, and so thought Sniggles also; for,
though he exclaimed, “Touch me if you dare!” he
ran to the door, where he looked vastly alarmed,
and was able to muster only a single expression of
resolution. “I asks my money,” said he, “and
dang me but I'll have it; for, as Mrs. Sniggles
says, I'll not be diddled for nothing.”

“Pay the rascal his dirty money, and then be
done with him; leave his house, and patronise him
no more,” said Jack. Then turning to me, he
made three skips into the air, clapped his hands,
and running up to me and giving me a second embrace,
cried,—

“Angels, horses, and women! hug me, kiss me,
and lend me that five hundred dollars—your uncle
has arrived!”

“Uncle! what uncle?” said I.

“Why your uncle Wiggins—your rich old uncle—your
dad of an uncle—your bank and banker
—your— But I say, Dawky, you'll lend me that
five hundred, won't you? Saw him at the hotel
—just arrived—asked anxiously for his nephew
Dawkins;—bad look about the eyes—will die in a
month; and then—then, my fellow! fourteen thousand
a year, if it's fourteen hundred!”

“Fourteen thousand a year!” echoed I; the
words were also muttered over by Sniggles. I

caught the fellow's eye; he looked confounded and
uneasy.

“If that's so,” said he, “then I hope Mr. Dawkins
will pay me my money, and not take no offence,
for none wasn't intended.”

“Pay you your money!” said Jack Tickle, stepping
up to him in a rage; “no, you rapacious dun,
he sha'n't pay you a cent. You shall sue him, and
get judgment, and wait six months for your money.”

“No, you rascallion!” said I, “I won't take
that revenge of such a low fellow. I'll pay you
your money, and be done with you. But, Jack, I
say, demmee, let's be off; let's run down to my
uncle Wiggins.”

“Wiggins!” said my landlord; “why, you always
said his name was Wilkins!”

“And so it is,” said Tickle; “Wiggins P. Wilkins,
the rich and well-known Wiggins P. Wilkins.
But what do you want here? Have you had your
answer? What do you mean by intruding here?
You'll get your money; and so, if you please, do
Mr. Dawkins and me the favour to walk down
stairs, or—”

“Well,” said my amiable creditor, whose fury
was quite overcome by Tickle's violence, and his
report of my uncle's arrival, “I always said Mr.
Dawkins was a gentleman, and would pay me one
day or another; and one day's just as good as another;
and so I hopes he'll take no offence. But as
for you, and the likes of you, Mr. Tickle,” said the
little man, endeavouring to assume courage, “I

don't like to be abused in my own house; but,
howsomever, as you're Mr. Dawkins's friend, I'll
say no more about it.”

And with that my gentleman walked down
stairs.

“Let us go!” said I. “Let us run—let us fly!”

“Where?” said Tickle.

“Why, to my uncle. Where is he?”

“Where!” cried Tickle, bursting into a roar of
laughter. “Are you as big a fool as Sniggles?
You didn't believe me! Ah, lud! is there nobody
witty but myself?”

“And my uncle a'n't come, then?” said I.
“What made you say so?”

“To rid you of a dun, my fellow,” said Jack. “I
saw the rascal had worked himself into a phrensy,
and that you were at your wit's end. I had pity
on your distresses, and so ran in with a huge lie,
as irresistible as a broadsword, to the rescue. Victory
and Jo Pæan! I have routed the enemy, and
you are no longer in fear. Keep up the fire, and
you are easy for a week.”

“But my uncle really intends to leave me that
fourteen thousand a year?” said I.

“Has he got it?” said Jack, giving me a comical
stare.

“Jack,” said I, after pausing a little, “I want to
ask you a favour.”

“Have but twenty-five in the world,” said Tickle,
pulling out his pocketbook; “but you shall have
ten.”

“It isn't that,” said I; “I want you to tell me
my history.”

“Your history!” said Tickle, staring at me in
surprise.