Harper's New Monthly Magazine, No. XXIV, May 1852, Vol. IVVarious
General
Harper's New Monthly Magazine, No. XXIV, May 1852, Vol. IV
Various
American literature -- Periodicals; Civilization -- Periodicals; Culture -- Periodicals
I was apprehensive that his illness might be of a dangerous kind; but,
of course, I begged her to be quiet and not disturb any one; and
collected myself, as I followed her quickly up-stairs, sufficiently to
consider what were the best remedies to be applied if it should prove to
be a fit. She threw open a door, and I went into a chamber; where, to my
unspeakable surprise, instead of finding Mr. Skimpole stretched upon the
bed, or prostrate on the floor, I found him standing before the fire
smiling at Richard, while Richard, with a face of great embarrassment,
looked at a person on a sofa, in a white great coat, with smooth hair
upon his head and not much of it, which he was wiping smoother, and
making less of, with a pocket-handkerchief.
"Miss Summerson," said Richard, hurriedly, "I am glad you are come. You
will be able to advise us. Our friend, Mr. Skimpole--don't be
alarmed!--is arrested for debt."
"And, really, my dear Miss Summerson," said Mr. Skimpole, with his
agreeable candor, "I never was in a situation, in which that excellent
sense, and quiet habit of method and usefulness, which any body must
observe in you who has the happiness of being a quarter of an hour in
your society, was more needed."
The person on the sofa, who appeared to have a cold in his head, gave
such a very loud snort, that he startled me.
"Are you arrested for much, sir?" I inquired of Mr. Skimpole.
"My dear Miss Summerson," said he, shaking his head pleasantly, "I don't
know. Some pounds, odd shillings, and halfpence, I think, were
mentioned.
"It's twenty-four pound, sixteen and seven pence ha'penny," observed the
stranger. "That's wot it is."
"And it sounds--somehow it sounds," said Mr. Skimpole, "like a small
sum?"
The strange man said nothing, but made an other snort. It was such a
powerful one, that it seemed quite to lift him up out of his seat.
"Mr. Skimpole," said Richard to me, "has a delicacy in applying to my
cousin Jarndyce, because he has lately--I think, sir, I understood you
that you had lately--"
"Oh, yes!" returned Mr. Skimpole, smiling. "Though I forgot how much it
was, and when it was. Jarndyce would readily do it again; but I have the
epicure-like feeling that I would prefer a novelty in help; that I would
rather," and he looked at Richard and me, "develop generosity in a new
soil, and in a new form of flower."
"What do you think will be best, Miss Summerson?" said Richard, aside.
I ventured to inquire generally, before replying, what would happen if
the money were not produced.
"Jail," said the strange man, coolly putting his handkerchief into his
hat, which was on the floor at his feet. "Or Coavinses."
"May I ask, sir, what is--"
"Coavinses?" said the strange man. "A 'ouse."
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