"Ah, I thought as much—I thought as much—a sad case, a very sad case, indeed. Be calm, my little lad, and Mr. Fogg will do all that can be done for you, I'm sure."
"Oh! how can you be so foolish, sir," cried Tobias, "as to be deceived by that man, who is making a mere instrument of you to cover his own villany? What I say to you is true, and I am not mad!"
"I think, Dr. Popplejoy," said Fogg, with a smile, "it would take rather a cleverer fellow than I am to make a fool of you; but you perceive, sir, that in a little while the boy would get quite furious, that he would. Shall I take him away?"
"Yes, yes—poor fellow!"
"Hear me—oh, hear me," shrieked Tobias. "Sir, on your death-bed you may repent this day's work—I am not mad—Sweeney Todd is a murderer—he is a barber in Fleet-street—I am not mad!"
"It's melancholy, sir, is it not?" said Fogg, as he again made an effort to wipe away a tear from his eyes. "It's very melancholy."
"Oh! very, very."
"Watson, take away poor Tobias Ragg, but take him very gently, and stay with him a little, in his nice comfortable room, and try to soothe him; speak to him of his mother, Watson, and get him round if you can. Alas, poor child! my heart quite bleeds to see him. I am not fit exactly for this life, doctor, I ought to be made of sterner stuff, indeed I ought."
"Well," said Mr. Watson, as he saluted poor Tobias with a kick outside the door, "what a deal of good you have done!"