Skeleton was very tall, very thin, and so sloping were his shoulders that his jacket seemed slipping off him. His poor face was like that of a snipe, and his eyes the eyes of an owl; two little spots of red were on his high cheek-bones.
No need to be told that this was the Living Skeleton of Biffins Lee's 'Queerest Show on Earth.'
'Are you very ill, poor fellow?'
'What, me? No, sir, I'm first chop. Could get stout in three weeks.'
'Then, for pity's sake, take a three weeks' holiday and fill yourself out.'
'What, me? And spoil the whole show, and lose my income?'
His voice was like that of some one speaking up from a vault.
'I know what you 're thinking, sir.'
'Well?'
'I could see your lips moving, and you seemed to be mumbling a morsel of the Immortal William to yourself. Would you like to have a look at my wife, sir?'