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"More fool he, I'm sure, with such a fine family of his own! Don't look at me in that way, young man; I won't take it that I won't! I declare my blood friz to see you!" "Will you advance me money? five pounds only five pounds, Mr. Plaskwith?" "Not five shillings! Talk to me in this style! not the man for it, sir! highly improper.
He would bear back into ease and prosperity, if not into affluence and station, the dear ones left at home. From the eminence of five shillings a week, he looked over the Promised Land. At length, Mr. Plaskwith, pulling out his watch, said, "Just in time to catch the coach; make your bow and be off-smart's the word!"
Come, shut up the shop, and recollect yourself; and, perhaps, when Sir Thomas's library is done, I may let you go to town. You can't go to-morrow. All a sham, perhaps; eh, Hannah?" "Very likely! Consult Plimmins. Better come away now, Mr. P. He looks like a young tiger." Mrs. Plaskwith quitted the shop for the parlour.
Plaskwith took out a huge pocketbook, slowly unclasped it, staring hard at Philip, with what he designed for a piercing and penetrative survey. "This is the letter no! this is Sir Thomas Champerdown's order for fifty copies of the last Mercury, containing his speech at the county meeting. Your age, young man? only sixteen? look older; that's not it that's not it and this is it! sit down. Yes, Mr.
Now, Plaskwith wrote me word, two days ago, that he wanted a genteel, smart lad, as assistant and 'prentice, and offered to take my eldest boy; but we can't spare him. I write to Christopher by this post; and if your youth will run down on the top of the coach, and inquire for Mr. Plaskwith the fare is trifling I have no doubt he will be engaged at once.
This young gentleman was very much freckled; wore his hair, which was dark and wiry, up at one side, down at the other; had a short thick nose; full lips; and, when close to him, smelt of cigars. Such was Mr. Plimmins, Mr. Plaskwith's factotum, foreman in the shop, assistant editor to the Mercury. Mr. Plaskwith formally went the round of the introduction; Mrs.
Plaskwith; the bookseller was accompanied by Mr. Plimmins, and a sturdy, ill-favoured stranger. A nameless feeling of fear, rage, and disgust seized the unhappy boy, and at the same moment a ragged vagabond whispered to him, "Stump it, my cove; that's a Bow Street runner."
Plaskwith extricated himself from the gripe of Philip, and, hurrying from the shop, said, as he banged the door: "Beg my pardon for this to-night, or out you go to-morrow, neck and crop! Zounds! a pretty pass the world's come to! I don't believe a word about your mother. Baugh!" Left alone, Philip remained for some moments struggling with his wrath and agony.
Now, Plaskwith wrote me word, two days ago, that he wanted a genteel, smart lad, as assistant and 'prentice, and offered to take my eldest boy; but we can't spare him. I write to Christopher by this post; and if your youth will run down on the top of the coach, and inquire for Mr. Plaskwith the fare is trifling I have no doubt he will be engaged at once.
Plaskwith were both in the shop as he entered in fact, they had been employed in talking him over. "I can't abide him!" cried Mrs. Plaskwith. "If you choose to take him for good, I sha'n't have an easy moment. I'm sure the 'prentice that cut his master's throat at Chatham, last week, was just like him." "Pshaw! Mrs.
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