mpose himself
upon the couch for his evening sleep, which he took according to custom,
and from which he awoke refreshed and ready to work for hours, late into
the night, at his wearisome chimerical task, with which he grew more
infatuated the more his reason suggested that his work was vain.

The boy began to whistle very softly as the doctor disappeared. Then he
washed and wiped the glass, and put it back in its place ready for use.
After this he threw himself upon the settee, took hold of his right leg
with his left hand, by the ankle, dragged it up, and held it across his
body rigidly as if it were a banjo, and began to strum imaginary strings
with his right hand, while in a whisper he sang a song about a yaller
gal somewhere in the south, with close-shut eyes and a long wide mouth,
and so on, through seven verses, with a chorus to each, all of which
seemed to afford him the greatest gratification, and which he
supplemented by leaping up and going round the surgery, holding out the
imaginary instrument for contributions.

These were acknowledged with proper darky grimaces and grins, and seemed
to be so abundant that Bob returned to the settee, and this time played
the bones with a couple of pair saved from a brisket of beef, but
without making a sound.

Another collection and another silent solo, this time on the tambourine,
which the boy pretended to beat with frantic energy, ending by going on
tiptoe to peep through the keyhole, and satisfy himself that the doctor
was in a deep sleep.

There was no doubt about that, so the boy's hour or two of indulgence,
on which he regularly counted, began.

He dashed at the settee, threw it open, stooped down to take something
out, but rose again, closed the lid, and listened as if afraid of being
caught.

Then shaking his head, he ran to the door, which opened into the lobby
and then into the street, from which place he came, helping himself
along by the wall to the settee, upon which he sank, and after lying
down and laying his leg out carefully, he began to play double parts,
that of surgeon and patient. For, after feeling the leg and shaking his
head, he said to himself, "Ah, we'll soon put that right, my man."

Jumping up, he ran to a drawer, from, which he brought splints and
bandages, trotted back to the settee, and with ghastly minuteness--the
result of having been present at an accident, and studious readings of
Dr Chartley's books--he proceeded to set a seri