"By the way," said the first, "I wonder when the doctor will be ready for another subject. I suppose poor Jack's cut up long since."
"Hush! you fool," said the other.
By this time I had taken my seat in the coach, and looking in the direction of the voices, I recognised my friends of the other night, Tom and Bill. Off we then started. The coach was full of men I knew as well as my own father, most of them my customers. I appeared absorbed in my book, so as not to get entangled in conversation with anyone, for fear that my voice might betray me.
Two men, who appeared to be strangers to each other, began entering into conversation.
"Dreadful business this epidemic, sir," said the younger of the two to the elder.
"Yes, it is indeed," replied the elder; "the young fare the same as the old, they say, but I am a stranger in the place."
"Oh, indeed, sir," said the first speaker; and then added, "Yes, sir—that's true enough—the young die as soon as the old. Hardly a week ago died young Jack Hearty, son of old Hearty, as keeps the Headless Lady—a lad of nineteen, and as hale a young fellow as ever you'd find in a day's march. He was taken suddenly ill, and died in a very few days.
"Poor young fellow! who'd have thought that he would have gone along with the rest? He was an only son, too, and they say his father is devilish down in the mouth about it."
"Dear me! dreadful, to be sure," replied the elder.
The conversation then changed to various topics, and became general, the only one not joining in it being myself. I still pored over my book, appearing not to take an interest in anything that was being said, although my ears were open to catch every word.