And just to put them off the scent I hoisted these abominable colours.

But that is not all, Gid; you promised me to work, and here I find you playing the fool at Padwick.' 'Please, Mr Bloomfield, you must not be hard on Mr Forsyth,' said Julia.
'Poor boy, he is in dreadful straits.' 'What's this, Gid ?' enquired the uncle.

'Have you been fighting?
or is it a bill ?' These, in the opinion of the Squirradical, were the two misfortunes incident to gentlemen; and indeed both were culled from his own career.
He had once put his name (as a matter of form) on a friend's paper; it had cost him a cool thousand; and the friend had gone about with the fear of death upon him ever since, and never turned a corner without scouting in front of him for Mr Bloomfield and the oaken staff.

As for fighting, the Squirradical was always on the brink of it; and once, when (in the character of president of a Radical club) he had cleared out the hall of his opponents, things had gone even further.

Mr Holtum, the Conservative candidate, who lay so long on the bed of sickness, was prepared to swear to Mr Bloomfield.