“Well; you are sent for, to a man who has hung himself. What would be your first endeavour?”
“To scrape the ceiling with the fire-shovel,” mildly observes Mr. Newcome; whereupon the class indulges in a hearty laugh, and Mr. Newcome blushes as deep as the red bull’s-eye of a New-road doctor’s lamp.
“What would you do, Mr. Manhug? perhaps you can inform Mr. Newcome.”
“Cut him down, sir,” answers the indomitable farceur.
“Well, well,” continues the teacher; “but we will presume he has been cut down. What would you strive to do next?”
“Cut him up, sir, if the coroner would give an order for a post mortem examination.”
“We have had no chemistry this morning,” observes one of the pupils.
“Very well, Mr. Rogers; we will go on with it if you wish. How would you endeavour to detect the presence of gold in any body?”
“By begging the loan of a sovereign, sir,” interrupts Mr. Manhug.
“If he knew you as well as I do, Manhug,” observes Mr. Jones, “he’d be sure to lend it—oh, yes!—I should rayther think so, certainly,” whereupon Mr. Jones compresses his nostril with the thumb of his right hand, and moves his fingers as if he was performing a concerto on an imaginary one handed flageolet.