Mr. Figgins extended his hand, and the negro grasping it, by a vigorous jerk hoisted the prostrate grocer out of his thorny bed, tingling all over as though he had been stung by nettles.
Bogey was quite astounded at the transformation of his dress.
"Why, Massa Figgins, what out-and-out guy you look!" he exclaimed; "whar all you hair gone to?"
The orphan only groaned.
He was thinking of another h-air (without the h), the air he had heard on the Turkish flute.
Just at that moment the too-too-too of the instrument sounded again.
Figgins stood like one absorbed.
All his agonizing pains were at once forgotten.
"How sweet, how plaintive!" he murmured to himself; "too-too-too, tooty-tooty-too!" he hummed, in imitation of the sound.
Bogey heard it also, and involuntarily put his hands on big stomach and made a comically wry face.