the blurred letters; his body contorted, and one side drooping, as though that moment half-way down-stricken with a paralysis, and yet unconscious of the stroke.
His two companions momentarily stood motionless in those respective attitudes, in which they had first caught sight of the remarkable change that had come over him. But, as if ashamed of having been thus affected, Millthorpe summoning a loud, merry voice, advanced toward Pierre, and, tapping his shoulder, cried, 'Wake up, wake up, my boy!—He says he is prepaid, but no objection to more.'
'Prepaid;—what's that? Go, go, and jabber to apes!'
'A curious young gentleman, is he not?' said Millthorpe lightly to the porter.—'Look you, my boy, I'll repeat:—He says he's prepaid, but no objection to more.'
'Ah?—take that then,' said Pierre, vacantly putting something into the porter's hand.
'And what shall I do with this, sir?' said the porter, staring.
'Drink a health; but not mine; that were mockery!'
'With a key, sir? This is a key you gave me.'
'Ah!—well, you at least shall not have the thing that unlocks me. Give me the key, and take this.'
'Ay, ay!—here's the chink! Thank 'ee, sir, thank 'ee. This'll drink. I ain't called a porter for nothing; Stout's the word; 2151 is my number; any jobs, call on me.'
'Do you ever cart a coffin, my man?' said Pierre.
''Pon my soul!' cried Millthorpe, gaily laughing, 'if you ain't writing an Inferno, then—but never mind. Porter! this gentleman is under medical treatment at present. You had better—ab'—you understand—'squatulate, porter! There, my boy, he is gone; I understand how to manage these fellows; there's a trick in it, my boy—an off-handed sort of what d' ye call it?—you understand—the trick! the trick!—the
