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Updated: June 3, 2025
The three friends found that they had not only all of their old freedom, but a charming female voice to accompany them in their songs, and on the piano or guitar, and a capital fourth hand at whist, and a beautiful reader, and an ever-cheerful companion. "If I could find such a wife, now!" Marcus and Maltboy would say. "But you can't," Overtop would answer.
But his troubles, as well as his joys, he kept to himself. The miser puts his broken bank notes and his good gold under the same lock and key. One evening, early in April, Overtop and Maltboy observed a peculiar expression of sadness on the face of their friend. He had eaten nothing at dinner, but had drunk more than his usual allowance of sherry.
"I told you," said he, "that my only visit was to be to our odd old neighbor. I was at his gate, when you called. And now, what do you want?" "I want to tell you," said Matthew Maltboy, "that Miss Whedell the Juno-like young lady with the handkerchief, you know is " "All your fancy painted her," interrupted Marcus. "She's lovely she's divine," said Maltboy, rapturously finishing the quotation.
Overtop and Maltboy took the verdict as a matter of course, having anticipated it for some time. Marcus Wilkeson, who had been in a gloomy stupor for the past hour, and had expected the worst, looked up in surprise at this lucky dispensation of Fate.
Overtop reasoned correctly; for, at ten A.M. the following day, that gentleman called at the office and paid the one hundred and fifty dollars, and said that he was very much obliged to Overtop & Maltboy for their gentlemanly conduct in the affair. Mr. "I am not ashamed to say that we were poor once," said Mr. Gudgeon, with a glow of pride.
Yes, gentlemen, he is my lawyer, and I refer you to him for the adjustment of all your claims. Come up, my dear Maltboy." "Oh! it is dear good Mr. Maltboy!" added a voice, qualified by sobs. "How kind of him to to come here at this time! Oh ho!" Maltboy never could resist Beauty in any condition; and, for Beauty in tears, he would cheerfully lay down his life.
This mental endowment might have been a priceless gift to a portrait painter, who was desirous of gratifying his sitters; but it was for Matthew Maltboy a fatal possession. It had led him to love too many women too much at first sight, and to shift his admiration from one dear object to another with a suddenness and rapidity destructive to a well-ordered state of society.
"The one topic natually suggests the other," said Mr. Whedell, "for they are equally variable." This was one of the father's few standard jokes; and Maltboy always laughed at it with the heartiness of a future son-in-law. They then grappled with the great theme in earnest.
Her figure was straight; her hair was black; her eyes were brilliant; her complexion was healthy; she exhibited jewelry in her ears, on her neck, her bosom, her wrists, and her fingers; her dress gave her a great deal of trouble, as she leaned forward to look out. "Charming, is she not?" said Maltboy.
Maltboy, supposing that she alluded to the prevalent snow and ice of the season, said that it certainly had. "No balls, no opera or none to speak of no parties, no anything. You will hardly believe it, Mr. Maltboy, but I declare I haven't been to twenty parties this winter have I, Gusty?" "To only two that I know of," responded Mrs. Frump, in a winning voice.
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