The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 321: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

290 REYNOLDS’ WORKS cheque which you require, we will drink another bottle of wine of this very sort which you seem to like so well.”’ The viscount’s features brightened up in the faintest de- gree as he saw that the conversation on this topic must soon draw to an end, and that he would obtain the subsidy of which he stood so much in need. “The circumstance to which I have referred,’”’ continued Sir Frederick Latham, “ placed me on a footing of intimacy with your family. I became the husband of your sister, and at the same time I had the supreme honour ”’ — here again he spoke with a cold sneer — “ of advancing a few thousands for the benefit of your father. Nor was this all. Shortly after my marriage, you, my lord, became involved in fresh difficulties; you were outlawed for your debts, and every sheriff’s-ofiicer in London was in search of you. Nay, more, there was one of your creditors — a solicitor, who was also a money-lender — that threatened you with an indictment for having obtained from him a loan under the falsest pre- tences, and again were you obliged to flee to the Continent, or at all events to hide yourself in some secure retreat. And who came forward to succour you? Who settled your lia- bilities? Who procured the reversal of the outlawries? Who arranged that ugly matter with the usurious solicitor? Ina word, who again saved you from ruin — nay, from worse than ruin, from utter degradation and dishonour? It was I, Frederick Latham, the City merchant.”’ ‘‘ And did I not express my most grateful thanks? ” asked the viscount. ‘ Did I not, alike by letter and by word of mouth, declare that you were my saviour and acknowledge the obligation under which I lay toward you? ”’ “No doubt,” rejoined Sir Frederick. “ But letters may be as insincere as bills of exchange themselves may be fic- titious, for the man who would forge a name to the latter would scarcely hesitate to lie through the medium of the former. And then, too, as for verbal expressions — ah, my Lord Viscount Rushbrook, I know the value of such language from your lips.”’ “Why, what — what — my dear Sir Frederick,’ stam- mered the young nobleman, looking dreadfully confused, despite his characteristic impudence, ‘‘ what do you mean? ”’ ‘‘ Every fable has its moral, every string of truths produce their corollary,” replied the merchant, sententiously. ‘‘ Think CORNICLIOOKS (E(0)