"That's so," muttered Mr. Brown, who appeared to deeply sympathize with the speaker in that portion of his narrative.
"I grew up," continued the red-haired individual, whose cognomen was Day, "quite fond of corpses."
I shuddered, and turned my head to see if there were any lying near, for I didn't consider that the subject was a very proper one to talk about at that time of night, and under the circumstances I should have prepared a more agreeable topic.
"The gentleman needn't be afeard," muttered the fellow, with a sneer; "corpses won't hurt a feller, 'cos I've tried 'em."
He had seen me flinch at the word, and improved his opportunity to show his hardihood.
"In fact, as I growed older," Day continued, "I was quite useful in my way, and got trusted by master with some important jobs. I could lay out a poor covey, who hadn't any money, with as much despatch as any 'prentice in London, and when you come to the mourning part I was really terrible. I could groan more unearthly and oftener than any mute that master employed."
"Did you not give us a specimen to-night?" I asked.
"Well, yes, I think that I did pretty well to-night, but I was too anxious to frighten you off to pay particular attention to my business. I'll show you what I can do, if you'll just listen."
But I declined to hear him, and the undertaker's ex-apprentice continued his story: