It was amusin to see the Honrabble
Halgernon manuvring to get this pore bird out of Blewitt's clause, who
thought he had it safe. In fact, he'd brought Dawkins to these
chambers for that very porpos, thinking to have him under his eye, and
strip him at leisure.

My master very soon found out what was Mr. Blewitt's game. Gamblers
know gamblers, if not by instink, at least by reputation; and though
Mr. Blewitt moved in a much lower spear than Mr. Deuceace, they knew
each other's dealins and caracters puffickly well.

"Charles, you scoundrel," says Deuceace to me one day (he always spoak
in that kind way), "who is this person that has taken the opsit
chambers, and plays the flute so industrusly?"

"It's Mr. Dawkins, a rich young gentleman from Oxford, and a great
friend of Mr. Blewittses, sir," says I; "they seem to live in each
other's rooms."

Master said nothink, but he grin'd--my eye, how he did grin! Not the
fowl find himself could snear more satannickly.

I knew what he meant:

Imprimish. A man who plays the floot is a simpleton.

Secknly. Mr. Blewitt is a raskle.

Thirdmo. When a raskle and a simpleton is always together, and when
the simpleton is rich, one knows pretty well what will come of it.

I was but a lad in them days, but I knew what was what as well as my
master; it's not gentlemen only that's up to snough. Law bless us!
there was four of us on this stairkes, four as nice young men as you
ever see; Mr. Bruffy's young man, Mr. Dawkinses, Mr. Blewitt's, and
me--and we knew what our masters was about as well as they did
theirselfs. Frinstance, I can say this for myself, there wasn't a
paper in Deuceace's desk or drawer, not a bill, a note, or mimerandum,
which I hadn't read as well as he: with Blewitt's it was the same--me
and his young man used to read 'em all. There wasn't a bottle of wine
that we didn't get a glas, nor a pound of sugar that we didn't have
some lumps of it. We had keys to all the cubbards--we pipped into all
the letters that kem and went--we pored over all the bill-files--we'd
the best pickens out of the dinners, the liwers of the fowls, the
force-mit balls out of the soup, the egs from the sallit. As for the
coals and candles, we left them to the landrisses. You may call this
robry--nonsince--it's only our right--a suvvant's purquizzits is as
sacred as the laws of Hengland.

Well, the long and short of it is this. Richard Blewitt, esquire, was
sityouated as follow