“They ought to keep you there for an hour longer for that vile pun,” said Cumberland. “Is your letter ready, Oaklands, for I must be going?”
“It is upstairs, I'll fetch it,” replied Oaklands, leaving the room.
“Well, as it seems I am here for life, I may as well make myself comfortable,” said Coleman, and, suiting the action to the word, he crossed his legs under him like a tailor, and folding his arms leaned his back against the wall, the picture of ease.
At this moment there was a gentle tap at the door; some one said “Come in,” and, without a word of preparation, Dr. Mildman entered the apartment. Our surprise and consternation at this apparition may easily be imagined. Cumberland and Lawless tried to carry it off by assuming an easy unembarrassed air, as if nothing particular was going on; I felt strongly disposed to laugh; while Mullins looked much more inclined to cry; but the expression of Coleman's face, affording a regular series of “dissolving views” of varied emotions, was the “gem” of the whole affair. The unconscious cause of all this excitement, whose back was turned towards the bookcase, walked quietly up to his usual seat, saying, as he did so:—
“Don't let me disturb you—I only came to look for my eye-glass, which I think I must have dropped”.
“I see it, sir,” said I, springing forward and picking it up; “how lucky none of us happened to tread on it and break it!”
“Thank you, Fairlegh, it is an old friend, and I should have been sorry to have any harm happen to it,” replied he, as he turned to leave the room, without having once raised his eyes from the ground. Coleman, who up to this moment had considered a discovery inevitable, gave me a sign to open the door, and, believing the danger over, was proceeding to relieve his feelings by making a hideous face at his retiring tutor, when the bookcase, affected no doubt by the additional weight placed upon it, suddenly gave a loud crack.
“Bless my heart,” said Dr. Mildman, looking up in alarm, “what's that? Gracious me!” continued he, starting back as his eyes encountered Coleman, “there's something alive up there! why it's—eh?” continued he, levelling his newly restored eye-glass at the object of his alarm; “yes, it certainly is Coleman; pray, sir, is it usually your 'custom of an afternoon,' as Shakspeare has it, to sit perched up there cross-legged, like a Chinese mandarin? It's a very singular taste.”