.

Lillyman was the better runner. Toole a good deal blown, but full of
pluck, was labouring in the rear; Lillyman jumped over the stile, at the
river path; and Toole saw an officer who resembled 'poor Puddock,' he
thought, a good deal, cross the road, and follow in Lillyman's wake. The
doctor crossed the stile next, and made his best gallop in rear of the
plump officer, excited by the distant shouting, and full of horrible
curiosity and good-nature.

Nearly opposite Inchicore they fished up an immense dead pig; and Toole
said, to his amazement, he found Puddock crying over it, and calling it
'my brother!' And this little scene added another very popular novelty
to the doctor's stock of convivial monologues.

Toole, who loved Puddock, hugged him heartily, and when he could get
breath, shouted triumphantly after the more advanced party, 'He's found,
he's found!'

'Oh, thank Heaven!' cried little Puddock, with upturned eyes; 'but is he
really found?'

The doctor almost thought that his perils had affected his intellect.

'Is he found--are _you_ found?' cried the doctor, resuming that great
shake by both hands, which in his momentary puzzle he had suspended.

'I--a--oh, dear!--I don't quite understand--is he lost? for mercy's sake
is Cluffe lost?' implored Puddock.

'Lost in his bed clothes, maybe,' cried Lillyman, who had joined them.

'But he's not--he's _not_ drowned?'

'Pish! drowned, indeed! unless he's drowned in the crock of hot water
he's clapt his legs into.'

'Where is he--where's Cluffe?'

'Hang it!--he's in bed, in his lodging, drinking hot punch this
half-hour.'

'But are you certain?'

'Why, I saw him there myself,' answered Lillyman, with an oath.

Poor little Puddock actually clasped his hands, looked up, and poured
forth a hearty, almost hysterical, thanksgiving; for he had charged
Cluffe's death altogether upon his own soul, and his relief was beyond
expression.

In the meantime, the old gentlemen of the club were in a thrilling
suspense, and that not altogether disagreeable state of horror in which
men chew the cud of bitter fancy over other men's catastrophes. After
about ten minutes in came young Spaight.

'Well,' said the colonel, 'is Cluffe safe or--eh?'

'Cluffe's safe--only half drowned; but poor Puddock's lost.'

'What!'

'Drowned, I'm afraid.'

'Drowned! who says so?' repeated the colonel.

'Cluffe--everybody.'

'Why, there it is!' replied the colonel, with a great