"Y've seen everybody but Gran an' Doc. Rackett, haven' you? He teaches me—a rum sortta dock he is, too, never there when he's wanted. But he's a real doctor all right: signs death certificates an' no questions asked. Y' c'd do a murder, 'n if you was on the right side of him, y'd never be hung. He'd say the corpse died of natural causes."
"I didn't know a corpse died," said Jack laughing.
"Didn't yer? Well yer know now!—Gran's as good as a corpse, an' she don't want her die. She put on Granfer's grave: 'Left desolate, but not without hope.' So they all thought she'd get married again. But she never.—Did y' go to one of them English schools?"
"Yes."
"Ever wear a bell-topper?"
"Once or twice."
"Gosh!—May I never go to school, God help me. I should die of shame and disgrace. Arrayed like a little black pea in a pod, learnin' to be useless. Look at Rackett. School, an' Cambridge, an' comes inter money. Wastes it. Wastes his life. Now he's teachin' me, an' th' only useful thing he ever did."
After a pause, Jack ventured.
"Who is Dr. Rackett?"
"A waster. Down and out waster. He's got a sin. I don't know what it is, but it's wastin' his soul away."