“Eh! who is Ourshe? He 's a kind of a bill-broking, mortgaging, bail-giving, devilish good sort of fellow. I 've a notion he 'd do a bit of something at three months.”
“His name is,--let me see,--his name is--But who cares for his name? He can write it, I suppose, on a stamp, my boy; that 's the mark. Bless your heart, I only spoil a stamp when I put my autograph across it; it would be worth prime cost till then. What a glorious thing is youth,--unfledged, unblemished youth,--to possess a name new to the Jews, a reputation against which no one has 'protested' I Tom Burke, my boy, I envy you. Now, when I write George Frederick Augustus Bubbleton on any bill, warrant, or quittance, straightway there 's a grin around the circle,--a kind of a damned impertinent sort of a half-civil smile, as though to say 'nulla bona,' payable nowhere. But hold! that was a tap at the door. Oh, they want us.”
So saying, the captain opened the door and introduced me.
“I say, Tom,” cried he, “come here, and thank our kind friend, Mr.--Mr.--”
“Mr. Basset!” said I, starting back, as my eyes beheld the pale, sarcastic features of the worthy attorney, who stood at the table, conversing in a low tone with the Under-Secretary.
“Eh I what 's the matter?” whispered Bubbleton as he saw my color come and go, and perceived that I leaned on a chair for support. “What the devil 's wrong now?”
“You 've betrayed me to my greatest enemy,” said I, in a low, distinct voice.
“Eh! what? Why, you seem to have nothing but foes in the world. Confound it, that's always my luck; my infernal good-nature is everlastingly making a wrong plunge.”
“In that case, if I understand the matter aright, the bail is unnecessary,” said Mr. Cooke, addressing Basset, who never turned his head to the part of the room where we stood.
“No, sir; it is not necessary. While the law assists me to resume my guardianship of this young gentleman, I am answerable for his appearance.”
“The indentures are quite correct,” said Barton, as he laid the papers on the table, “as I believe Mr. Basset's statement to be also.”
“No bail necessary,” interrupted Bubbleton, rubbing his hands pleasantly; “so much the better. Wish them good evening, Tom, my hearty; we shall be back in time for supper. You wouldn't take an oyster, Mr. Cooke?”