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Updated: June 19, 2025
He separated my poor little all, of six pieces, from this shining and imposing collection; and the passion of envy entered my soul: I felt far more anxious now than before, although starvation was then staring me in the face; I hated Attwood for CHEATING me out of all this wealth. Poor fellow! it had been better for him had he never seen a shilling of it.
In the bankruptcy of Gibbins and Co., in 1825, the creditors received 19s. 8d. in the pound. In the more recent case that of Attwood and Co. they received a dividend of 11s. 3d. Both these cases compare favourably with others at a distance, where dividends of one or two shillings have not been infrequent.
I got that day at least twenty cuts to my share, which ought to have belonged to Cornet Attwood, of the n th dragoons. When we came to think more coolly over our quondam schoolfellow's swaggering talk and manner, we were not quite so impressed by his merits as at his first appearance among us.
Thank God, we've caught the rising wind; so, hey for draggle-tails! we'll take up all we can." The waiter was coming up the path, and by his side, a little back, bareheaded and flushed with running, came Nicholas Attwood. He had followed the big man through the fields from the gates of the Falcon Inn.
The Judge sighed as he pulled the papers toward him. "They've nailed me, Nell," he said. "Here, I'll appoint a substitute. Send for Mr. Chester, Attwood dining anywhere, Chester? Then take pot luck with us and pay me by escorting my business conscience home. I'll overwork myself if someone doesn't carry her away!"
Stared at by a hundred curious eyes, made way for everywhere, and followed by wondering exclamations of envy, it was little wonder that Nick, a simple country lad, at last began to think that there was not in all the world another gentleman so grand as Master Gaston Carew, and also to have a pleasant notion that Nicholas Attwood was no bad fellow himself.
But about the middle of the afternoon John Combe came out of the tannery door, and Simon Attwood came behind him. And as John Combe came down the cobbled way, a trail of brown vat-liquor followed him, dripping from his clothes, for he was soaked to the skin.
"What do you mean?" exclaimed I, adopting the familiar phraseology of my acquaintances: "Attwood off? has he cut his stick?" "Not bad," said the feeling and elegant Fips "not such a bad guess, my boy; but he has not exactly CUT HIS STICK." "What then?" "WHY, HIS THROAT." The man's mouth was full of bleeding beef as he uttered this gentlemanly witticism.
"Now, Nicholas Attwood," said he, grimly, as they galloped away, "hark 'e well to what I have to say, and do not let it slip thy mind. I am willed to take thee to London town dost mark me? and to London town thou shalt go, warm or cold. By the whistle of the Lord High Admiral, I mean just what I say! So thou mayst take thy choice."
"It is a good toast, and we will all drink it together." And so they did. And Simon Attwood went away with a warmth and a tingling in his heart he had never known before. "Margaret," said he, coming quickly in at the door, as she went silently about the house with a heavy heart preparing the supper, "Margaret."
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