It might have yielded, however; and no doubt must have yielded soon, but
for a very strange and unlooked-for occurrence.
The five weeks had quite run out, and he was in a truly desperate
plight, when one evening, having just returned to his lodging, and
being in the act of lighting his candle at the gas jet in the bar before
stalking moodily upstairs to his own room, his landlord called him by
his name. Now as he had never told it to the man, but had scrupulously
kept it to himself, he was not a little startled by this; and so plainly
showed his agitation that the landlord, to reassure him, said 'it was
only a letter.'
'A letter!' cried Martin.
'For Mr Martin Chuzzlewit,' said the landlord, reading the
superscription of one he held in his hand. 'Noon. Chief office. Paid.'
Martin took it from him, thanked him, and walked upstairs. It was not
sealed, but pasted close; the handwriting was quite unknown to him.
He opened it and found enclosed, without any name, address, or other
inscription or explanation of any kind whatever, a Bank of England note
for Twenty Pounds.
To say that he was perfectly stunned with astonishment and delight; that
he looked again and again at the note and the wrapper; that he hurried
below stairs to make quite certain that the note was a good note; and
then hurried up again to satisfy himself for the fiftieth time that
he had not overlooked some scrap of writing on the wrapper; that he
exhausted and bewildered himself with conjectures; and could make
nothing of it but that there the note was, and he was suddenly enriched;
would be only to relate so many matters of course to no purpose.
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