“Who in the world are you?”
“My name is Clarence Esmond. About a week ago I was over at McGregor—”
“Halloa!” cried the Rector. “Why, they’re dragging the river for you.”
“They might as well stop; it’s no use,” said Clarence, taking the last piece of toast and looking regretfully at the empty beefsteak dish.
“My, but this is an adventure!” exclaimed the President. “So you’re not a moist corpse after all.”
The Squire’s eyes were sticking out of his head.
“If you were only dead,” he said to Clarence, “you’d be worth a thousand dollars to me.”
“I’m sorry I can’t please everybody,” said the youth, taking up the last slab of cornbread. “Am I expected to apologize for being alive?”
“Did you sleep last night?” continued the Rector.
“How could I? I was in the river most of the time.”