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Updated: May 19, 2025
James bore it all with unconquerable patience. If Nickie was lazy, he talked with him like a brother of the twin virtues, industry and thrift; if he were unwashed, he explained to him that cleanliness was next to godliness: if he seemed to, have gazed too, long upon the wine when it was red, or the beer when it foamed in the bowl, the clergyman pointed out the advantage of strict sobriety, and earnestly besought Nicholas Crips to strive for higher things and the true light.
He carried two or three books in his left hand, pressed against his heart with a sort of caress, an affection very common with gentlemen of the cloth, for Nicholas Crips had a keen eye for character, and his various impersonations were fairly true to type, and of no mean dramatic quality. "Good-day sir. Good-day my dear young lady." "D-afternoon!" replied the severe gentleman severely. "Sir.
While the Professor rested and underwent repairs, and whiled his time negotiating for damages with the owner of the horses and the frantic person in the woman's nightdress, Matty Cann, the' Living Skeleton, and Nicholas Crips, the Missing Link, were allowed their liberty.
My name is Martha Spink; I live at 'The Nook. Do you happen to know a eh theatrical person named Nicholas Crips Nicholas?" Professor Thunder had learned caution. "I fancy I have heard the name," he said. "You haven't such a person in your employ?" said the lady. "No," said the Professor, thoughtfully, as if mentally running over the names of numerous celebrities on his long pay-roll.
Nickie the Kid responded with alacrity, and Stub McGuire gazed in cow-like wonder while the two discussed matters in the gateway. Nickie was calling him "Bill," "Billy," and "Willyum," indiscriminately. Stub nearly fainted when he saw the gentleman draw a bank-note from his pocket, and hand it to Nicholas Crips. Nickie lifted his deplorable hat, and said: "So long, Bill.
He found Nickie the Kid sleeping in the Pansy bed, and Nickie was pulled to his feet. "Nicholas!" he gasped. "That'sh me, Willie," answered Nicholas Crips. "You blackguard, you intrude into my house and insult my guests, and you promised when I gave you that last £10 never to interfere with me again." "Now Willie, Little Willie," said Nickie, "when did I ever keep my promises?"
Crips entered a jeweller's shop, and placing a small stone on the pad before the man behind the counter, said: "Would you be so good as to tell me the value of that diamond, sir? I picked it up on the floor of a first-class railway carriage the other day, and having no means of testing it, I thought I might, eh, venture to ask an expert."
He took Nickie by his rags and the nape of his neck, and running him tip-toe out of the garden, tumbled him headlong on the grass-grown roadside. Nickie rejoined Stub McGuire quite unconcerned. "That's a new society game, my friend," he said. "The flunkey scored ten points." A few hours later the proprietor of the cement mansion came to his gate, and beckoned Nicholas Crips off the heap.
The jeweller was mistaken or ignorant, the diamonds must be genuine. Nickie selected another stone, and told the same tale at a pawnbroker's shop in another part of the city. The benignant Hebrew passed judgment after a glance. "Paste, my boy," he said, "not vorth ninepenth." Grown rash in his anguish and anxiety, Nicholas Crips visited other shops. The experts all told the same tale.
Nickie said nothing. Retribution had overtaken him. He knew that. His fair dreams fell from him, he sighed deeply, and philosophically, as was his wont, abandoned himself to the inevitable. There were two young men in the trap. They hoisted Nickie to the seat behind, and drove on. No explanation was offered, and Mr Crips expected none.
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