"Let the Nose put his feet into hot water as usual."
The surgeon then felt Greenwood's pulse, gave Mrs. Jubkins a few necessary directions, and was about to proceed to the next ward to visit a Brain, which also had a compound fracture of the arm, when he suddenly espied Gibbet near the head of the new patient's bed.
"Well, my good fellow," said the surgeon; "and what do you want?"
"Please, sir," answered Gibbet, "I merely came in—I scarce know why—but I saw the accident—and I thought that if this poor gentleman would like to send a message to any friend——"
"Oh! yes, I should indeed!" murmured Greenwood, in a faint and yet earnest tone.
"Well—you can settle that matter between you," said the surgeon: "only, my good fellow," he added, speaking to Gibbet, "you must not hold the patient too long in conversation."
"No, sir—I will not," was the answer.
The surgeon, the nurse, and the dressers moved away: the policeman had already taken his departure; and Greenwood was therefore enabled to speak without reserve to the kind-hearted hump-back who had manifested so generous an interest in his behalf.
And now behold Gibbet—the late hangman's son—leaning over the pallet of the once fashionable, courted, and influential George Montague Greenwood.
"I am so weak—so ill in mind and body," said the latter, in a very faint and low tone, "that I cannot devote words to tell you how much I feel your kindness."