"Why, Jack," said Mr. Oldstone, at the conclusion of our host's recital, "you can tell a story like the best of us."
"Ay, that he can indeed," chimed in Mr. Crucible and Mr. Hardcase.
"There is a great deal of poetry in Jack's story," remarked Mr. Parnassus.
Mr. Blackdeed said that it ought to be adapted to the stage.
"And was it ever discovered who unearthed you, Jack?" inquired Dr. Bleedem, who had a fellow feeling for the Dr. Slasher of Jack's narrative, as he could imagine what his own feelings would have been had he fallen a victim to the infuriated villagers.
"No, sir," replied our host, "I never let out the truth, although I was pestered with questions all day long by every one in the village. At length, however, an old doctor in these parts died from the epidemic, and after his death, I gave out to the villagers that he was the man who had dug me up."
"Ah!" said Dr. Bleedem, "there was no harm in that."
"And the two body-snatchers, did you ever see them again?" asked Professor Cyanite.
"Ha! ha!" laughed our host, "and that was a joke, surely. One evening, shortly after my resurrection, leastways before everyone knew that I had come to life again, I was strolling through the cemetery alone where I had been buried, and sitting down upon my own grave, I began meditating upon my miraculous escape from death, when who should pass by but my two friends, Tom and Bill. I looked up as they passed. You should have seen how they took to their heels. My eyes! I shall never forget it."
"That was a rare joke, indeed," said our artist, "and that other young fellow, young Rashly, did you see any more of him?"