“Yes.”
“’Tain’t a killing disease, is it, doctor?”
“Indeed but it is, old fellow. But, there, I’ll come in now and then and oil your works, and keep you going as long as I can.”
“Do, doctor, do, please. I shall feel so much safer when you’ve been.”
“All right. Good-day, Moredock.”
“Good-day, doctor,” said the old man, gripping his visitor’s arm tightly with a hook-like claw.
“Good-day; and if you do overcome your scruples, I should like that skull. It would be useful to me now.”
The old man kept tightly hold of his visitor’s arm, and hobbled to the door to look out, and then, still gripping hard at the arm, he said in a strange, cachinnatory way, as he laid down his pipe:
“He-he-he! hi-hi-hi! I’ve got it for you, doctor.”
“What? The skull?”