“Bless my ’art, Master Ro—”
Again I interrupted him by seizing my cap, swinging it round my head in an ecstasy of delight, and uttering cheer upon cheer with such outrageous vehemence, that Edwards, who thought me raving mad, crept towards the door, intending to bolt.
He was prevented from carrying out his intention, and violently overturned by the entrance of my father in dishabille. I sprang forward, plucked the spectacles off his nose, threw my arms round his neck, and kissed him on both eyes.
“I won’t run away now, father, no, no, no! it’s all a dream—a horrid dream! ha! ha! ha!”
“Bob, my dear boy!”
At this moment Jack, also in dishabille, rushed in. “Hallo! Bob, what’s all the row?”
I experienced a different, but equally powerful gush of feeling on seeing my friend. Leaving my father, I rushed towards him, and, falling on his neck, burst into tears. Yes, I confess it without shame. Reader, if you had felt as I did, you would have done the same.
Jack led me gently to my bed, and, seating me on the edge of it, sat down beside me. I at once perceived from their looks that they all thought me mad, and felt the necessity of calming me before taking more forcible measures. This tickled me so much that I laughed again heartily, insomuch that Jack could not help joining me. Suddenly a thought flashed into my mind. My heart leaped to my throat, and I glanced downwards. It was there! I seized Jack’s right leg, tumbled him back into the bed, and laying the limb across my knee, grasped it violently.
“All right!” I shouted, “straight, firm, muscular, supple as ever.” I squeezed harder.
Jack roared. “I say, Bob, gently—”