“Silence, man! Here, come down the next street,” whispered Dick, thrusting his arm beneath the other’s to lead him into a less crowded thoroughfare; but Jerry started from him violently.
“Don’t—don’t touch me!” he gasped.
“Quiet, man!” said Dick, gripping him tightly. “That doesn’t feel like a ghost?”
“Oh, lor’!” groaned Jerry, with the great drops of cold perspiration crowding upon his brow. “But—but I see you drownd yourself before my very eyes!”
“No, you did not, or I shouldn’t be standing here now!”
“But—but—oh, lor’!” groaned Jerry, with his voice growing faint and piteous, “is—is it really you S’Rich—?”
“Silence! I’m Dick Smithson, now!” cried the young man fiercely.
“But you was S’Richard,” groaned Jerry, “before you come to life again!”
“What nonsense are you talking now?”
“Only the truth, sir. Why—why—oh, dear! can we get a drop o’ brandy?”