“He’s gone,” said the man.
“What, gone? You don’t mean to say he’s dead?”
“Just snuffed out,” said the other, “he died at four o’clock this morning; all yesterday he was raving—raving about Skinner, and having no Sundays. ‘I never had a Sunday’s rest,’ these were his last words.”
No one spoke for a while, and then the governor said, “I’ll tell you what, mates, this is a warning for us.”