business—cash up—every farthing. Yellow fever, perhaps—can't help that—if not—" Here Mr. Jingle paused, and striking the crown of his hat with great violence, passed his hand over his eyes, and sat down.
"He means to say," said Job, advancing a few paces, "that if he is not carried off by the fever, he will pay the money back again. If he lives, he will, Mr. Pickwick. I will see it done. I know he will, sir," said Job, with energy. "I could undertake to swear it."
"Well, well," said Mr. Pickwick, who had been bestowing a score or two of frowns upon Perker, to stop his summary of benefits conferred, which the little attorney obstinately disregarded, "you must be careful not to play any more desperate cricket matches, Mr. Jingle, or to renew your acquaintance with Sir Thomas Blazo, and I have little doubt of your preserving your health."
Mr. Jingle smiled at this sally, but looked rather foolish notwithstanding; so, Mr. Pickwick changed the subject by saying,
"You don't happen to know, do you, what has become of another friend of yours—a more humble one, whom I saw at Rochester?"
"Dismal Jemmy?" inquired Jingle.
"Yes."
Jingle shook his head.
"Clever rascal—queer fellow, hoaxing genius—Job's brother."
"Job's brother!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. "Well, now I look at him closely, there is a likeness."
"We were always considered other, sir," said Job, with a cunning look just lurking in the corners of his eyes, "only I was really of a serious nature, and he never was. He emigrated to America, sir, in consequence of being too much sought after here, to be comfortable; and has never been heard of since."
"That accounts for my not having received the 'page from the romance of real life,' which he promised me one morning
