Peter shook himself.
"You don't seem well, Mr. Todd. I didn't think you was the sort of man to be down on your blessed luck in this sort of way. Cheer up. What's the use of grieving? as the old song says."
Todd groaned again.
"And if so be as the kid," continued Peter, "did run away, my opinion is as he'd seen enough and felt enough, while he was at Fogg's, to make him as mad as a March hare."
There was hope in that suggestion, and Todd looked up.
"You really think, then, Mr. Peter, that—that his intellects—"
"His what?"
"His mind, I mean, has not withstood the shock of what he went through while he was in Fogg's establishment?"
"How could it? Once or twice things very nigh infected me, and how should he stand up agin 'em? But arter all, Mr. Fogg, what was it all about? That's what used to bother me. Was there anything in what he said, or wasn't there?"
"My good fellow," said Todd, "I have only one question to ask you—"