“I am a medical man,” replied a squat vulgar-looking personage. “I sell Morison’s pills—but I haven’t any about me.”
“Glad of it,” said the smoker, casting a long puff in the other’s face.
“THIS IS THE TIME WHEN CHURCH-YARDS YAWN.”
“Poor wretch!” sighed the compassionate man. “He is beyond human aid. Heaven help the widow and the fatherless—he looks like a family man!”
“I were not to blaame,” said the waggoner. “The woife and childerin can’t coom upon I.”
“Does anyone know who he is?” inquired the coachman, but there was no answer.
“Maybe the gemman has a card or summut,” said the gentleman from the inside.
“Is there no house near?” inquired the lady.
“For to get a shutter off on,” added the gentleman.