“Don’t think of me for a minute,” replied Bob. “I’ve arranged it all; Sam and I will share the dickey between us. Look here. This little bill is to be wafered on the shop door: ‘Sawyer, late Nockemorf. Inquire of Mrs. Cripps over the way.’ Mrs. Cripps is my boy’s mother. ‘ Mr. Sawyer’s very sorry,’ says Mrs. Cripps, ‘couldn’t help it⁠—fetched away early this morning to a consultation of the very first surgeons in the country⁠—couldn’t do without him⁠—would have him at any price⁠—tremendous operation.’ The fact is,” said Bob, in conclusion, “it’ll do me more good than otherwise, I expect. If it gets into one of the local papers, it will be the making of me. Here’s Ben; now then, jump in!”