Mat. (clearing away breakfast things). Just that very same day, dear. Directly after I told him ye were going to propose for me, and immediately before ye did it.
Whi. Good soldier, the Colonel.
Tom. Oh, he didn’t borrow it because he wanted it; he borrowed it to prevent my wasting it in foolishness. He said so; but I should like to have a go in at some foolishness now and then, if it was only a pair of trousers or half a dozen socks.
Mat. Yes, ye want socks.
[Exit Matilda with breakfast things.
Tom. But what’s the use of socks to a man who’s going to blow his brains out? Whipple, I do assure you on my honour, if I knew a safe and perfectly painless way of popping out of this world into comfortable quarters in the next, I’d adopt it—upon my word and honour, I’d adopt it!
Whi. (suddenly). Do you mean that?
Tom. Yes, I mean that.
Whi. Then I’ll help you. Now, observe: my old pauper patient, Tom Cobb, died last night. He hasn’t a friend or relation in the world to claim him. Well, I certify to his death, and he’s comfortably buried, and there’s an end of old Tom Cobb.
Tom. The ugly one?