"Woke us up at two in the mornin' hangin' like a coal sack over the railin's; might a-tumbled into the airy and broke his neck. Disgraceful, I call it!"
"May I go up and see him?"
"Yus, you can go up—he's in the top floor back—trouble enough we had to get him there."
Leavesley went up to the top floor back. The unfortunate Verneede was in bed, trying to remember things. He had brought his umbrella home safely, but in the pockets of his clothes, after diligent search in the grey dawn, he had been able to discover only one halfpenny. To make up for this deficiency, his head was swelled up till it felt like a pumpkin.
"Good gracious, Verneede," cried Leavesley, staring at him, "what on earth has happened to you?
"A fit, I think," said Verneede.
"Did you go to Highgate?"
"Of course—of course; pray, my dear Leavesley, hand me the washing jug."
He began to drink from the jug.
"Stop!" said Leavesley, "you'll burst!"