"I'm all right," said Mr. Wriford.
"Well, then, you are much better, loony," said Mr. Puddlebox. He then put out a hand in the darkness, and touching Mr. Wriford's ribs, obtained his fuller attention. "You are much better," repeated Mr. Puddlebox, "and if you will give me your interest for a last moment, we will continue in praise the cure which we have begun very satisfactorily in good whisky, cold sausage, and new bread. A nightly custom of mine which I suit according to the circumstances and in which, being suited to you, you shall now accompany me."
"Well?" said Mr. Wriford, aroused, and laughed again in light-hearted content. "Well?"
"Well," said Mr. Puddlebox, "thusly," and trolled forth very deeply into the darkness:
"O all ye loonies of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever."
"Now you," said Mr. Puddlebox.
Mr. Wriford protested with nervous laughter: "It's too ridiculous!"
"It's wonderfully comforting," said Mr. Puddlebox; and Mr. Wriford laughed again and in a voice that contrasted very thinly with the volume of Mr. Puddlebox's gave forth as requested:
"O all ye loonies of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever."
"Scarcely body enough," adjudged Mr. Puddlebox, "but that will come with appreciation of its value. Now one other, and this time touching that friend of yours whom I name Spook. We have starved him to his great undoing, for you have fed while he has hungered, and his bowels are already weakened upon you. We will now further discomfort him with praise. This time together—O all ye Spooks. Now, then."