“Where is Frank, I wonder?” said one. “Just see, Peters, if Casson's gone yet.”
Peters departed, and returned with the news that Casson had gone to bed a little while before.
“The farce has begun, I suspect,” said Meredith. “It's more than half an hour since Salisbury went,—and depend upon it, wherever he is, there is Frank.”
At this moment Salisbury rushed into the room, and throwing himself in a sitting posture on the floor, with his back against the wall as if completely exhausted, laughed on without uttering a word, till his mirth became so infectious, that nearly all the room joined him.
“Well, Salisbury!” “Well, Salisbury!” “What is it?” “Tell us.” “Have done laughing, do, you wretch, you merry-andrew.” “Do be sensible.”
“Sensible!” groaned Salisbury, laying his head against a form; “oh, hold me, somebody—I'm quite knocked up with laughing. It's enough to make a fellow insensible for the rest of his life.”
“Well, what is it, madcap?” said Reginald, jumping up from his seat, and approaching him in a threatening attitude.
“Frank Digby!” said Salisbury, going off into another paroxysm of laughter.
“Shake him into a little sense, Mortimer,” said Jones.
“Come, Salisbury, what is it?” said several more, coming up to him.