“For God’s sake, hold your tongue!”
“Hey? Hold my tongue? Why? Better and quicker than jumping into the river, and struggling up and down, and wanting to get out; besides running the risk of floating to and fro with the tide, and looking like swollen bagpipes.”
“Be silent!” shouted Tom, gazing at him in horror.
“What for?” chuckled the old man. “You’d look so ugly, too, with your nose rubbed off. Tide always rubs their noses off against the barges, and ships, and piers of bridges. Lots of people wouldn’t drown themselves if they knew how nasty they’d look when they were dead. I’ve seen ’em—dozens of times.”
“Do you find any pleasure in tormenting me?” cried Tom furiously.
“Torment you, hey? Not I,” chuckled Hopper. “You said you were going to drown yourself—that takes nearly five minutes; and they may fish you out with a boat-hook and bring you to, which they say isn’t pleasant. I only, as the oldest friend of your family, suggested a quicker way.”
Tom turned from the window, and threw himself into a chair.
“Ah! you’re better,” said Hopper, poking the fire up to make it blaze.
“Better!” groaned Tom.
“Yes, ever so much. You’re not fretting about your step-father, but about Jessie: you’re in love.”