Presently I chanced to see a pasteboard sign lying upon a desk and bearing these words:
"TAKE CARE OF HIM.
HE BITES."
I hurriedly climbed upon the desk, fearful of a dog underneath; but saw none.
"What are you doing there?" asked Mr. Mell.
"I beg your pardon, sir," I replied. "If you please, I'm looking for the dog."
"Dog? What dog?"
I pointed to the sign.
"No, Copperfield," he said gravely. "That's not a dog; that's a boy. My instructions are to put this sign on your back. I'm sorry to do so, but must do it."
With that, he took me down, and tied the placard, which was neatly constructed for the purpose, on my shoulders like a knapsack; and wherever I went, afterwards, I had the consolation of carrying it.
What I suffered nobody can imagine. Whether it was possible for people to see me or not, I always fancied that somebody was reading it. It was no relief to turn round and find nobody; for wherever my back was, there I imagined somebody always to be, until at last I positively began to have a dread of myself as the boy who did bite.