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Updated: May 17, 2025
"A Grand National Company for blowing up both Houses of Parliament!" Mr. Caxton. "Upon my life, I hope something newer than that; for they, to judge by the newspapers, don't want brother Jack's assistance to blow up each other!" "Newspapers! you don't often read a newspaper, Austin Caxton!" Mr. Caxton. "Granted, John Tibbets!" Uncle Jack.
"Very likely; Gibbon had not an Uncle Jack to look after his interests," said Mr. Tibbets, laughing, and rubbing those smooth hands of his. "No! two thousand pounds the two volumes, a sacrifice, but still I recommend moderation." "I should be happy indeed if the book brought in anything," said my father, evidently fascinated; "for that young gentleman is rather expensive.
Caxton himself might settle as he could with the other shareholders, most of whom, he grieved to add, he had been misled by Mr. Tibbets into believing to be men of substance, when in reality they were men of straw! Nor was this all the evil. I own that as soon as I had mastered the above agreeable facts, and ascertained from Mr.
Tibbets had possessed himself of the two volumes of the "History of Human Error," he had necessarily established that hold upon my father which hitherto those lubricate hands of his had failed to effect. He had found what he had so long sighed for in vain, his point d'appui, wherein to fix the Archimedean screw. He fixed it tight in the "History of Human Error," and moved the Caxtonian world.
When Tibbets had pronounced this with great emphasis, he pulled out a well-filled leathern purse, took out a handful of gold and silver, paid his score at the bar with great punctuality, returned his money, piece by piece, into his purse, his purse into his pocket, which he buttoned up, and then giving his cudgel a stout thump upon the floor, and bidding the radical "Good morning, sir!" with the tone of a man who conceives he has completely done for his antagonist, he walked with lion-like gravity out of the house.
In a word, no sooner was my poor father's back turned than the "Literary Times" was dropped incontinently, and Mr. Peck and Mr. Tibbets began to concentrate their luminous notions into that brilliant and comet-like apparition which ultimately blazed forth under the title of "The Capitalist."
Tibbets, though not a man to be daunted or flattered by high acquaintances; and though he cherishes a sturdy independence of mind and manner, yet is evidently gratified by the attentions of the Squire, whom he has known from boyhood, and pronounces "a true gentleman every inch of him."
By this time, things began to look very serious, though, for some reason, I felt no great alarm. The case was different with Tibbets and Wilson, who were uneasy about Cape Clear. I had had a bit of a spat with them about waring, believing, myself, that we should have gone clear of the Cape, on the starboard tack.
Tibbets to make any change in the form or title of the periodical that might be judged advisable, concurrent with the consent of the other shareholders. Now, it seems that Mr. Peck had, in his previous conferences with Mr.
The mistake I made in London was in returning the Nana Sahib's ruby." "There is always one mistake," replied Crawford sternly. He felt sad, too. "Off with you, Tibbets! We can make the train for New York if we hustle." The man-servant's brilliant eyes flashed evilly. "Will you make it an hour and a half, sir?" asked Mason, as his valet slid over the window-sill. It sounded strange to Forbes.
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