"Doctor," exclaimed Mr. Mole, joyously; "you are a trump."
A delay naturally occurred, however.
Mr. Mole could not travel with his wooden stumps, his friends one and all agreed.
No.
He must have a pair of cork legs made.
The doctor who had been attending our old friend knew of a maker of artificial limbs who was a wonderful man, according to all accounts.
"Yes," said Mole, "cork legs well hosed will——"
At this moment a voice tuning up under the window cut him short,
"He gave his own leg to the undertaker,
And sent for a skilful cork-leg maker.