“I beg your pardon, Captain Gills, but you don’t happen to see anything particular in me, do you?”
“No, my lad,” returned the Captain. “No.”
“Because you know,” said Mr Toots with a chuckle, “I know I’m wasting away. You needn’t at all mind alluding to that. I—I should like it. Burgess and Co. have altered my measure, I’m in that state of thinness. It’s a gratification to me. I—I’m glad of it. I—I’d a great deal rather go into a decline, if I could. I’m a mere brute you know, grazing upon the surface of the earth, Captain Gills.”
The more Mr Toots went on in this way, the more the Captain was weighed down by his secret, and stared at him. What with this cause of uneasiness, and his desire to get rid of Mr Toots, the Captain was in such a scared and strange condition, indeed, that if he had been in conversation with a ghost, he could hardly have evinced greater discomposure.
“But I was going to say, Captain Gills,” said Mr Toots. “Happening to be this way early this morning—to tell you the truth, I was coming to breakfast with you. As to sleep, you know, I never sleep now. I might be a Watchman, except that I don’t get any pay, and he’s got nothing on his mind.”
“Carry on, my lad!” said the Captain, in an admonitory voice.
“Certainly, Captain Gills,” said Mr Toots. “Perfectly true! Happening to be this way early this morning (an hour or so ago), and finding the door shut—”
“What! were you waiting there, brother?” demanded the Captain.
“Not at all, Captain Gills,” returned Mr Toots. “I didn’t stop a moment. I thought you were out. But the person said—by the bye, you don’t keep a dog, you, Captain Gills?”
The Captain shook his head.