"Any cabs."

"The ----"

"Don't swear."

"My dear Mr. Harkaway, now if you were without legs, would not you
swear?"

"Can't say, having the proper number of pins."

"You'll have to walk," said Harvey. "There's not a cab in the station."

"But how can I walk?"

"Don't you remember the hero in the ballad of Chevy Chase?"

"Who was he?"

"The song says Witherington, but we will call him Mole."

"'For Mole, indeed, my heart is woe,
As one in doleful dumps;
For when his feet were cut away,
He walked upon his stumps.'"

By this time the train had stopped, and all the party got out, except
Mole.

As Harkaway had said, there was no vehicle in the station nor outside
of it, so Mr. Mole was obliged to remain till his friends could hit
upon some plan for removing him.

A porter was the first to make a suggestion.

"An artificial limb maker lives opposite, monsieur," said he.

"Ah!"

"If I carried monsieur over, he might have some--ah--substitutes fitted
on."

"A capital idea!" exclaimed Harvey; "over with him." And before Mole
could remonstrate, he was hoisted to the porter's shoulders, and
trotted across the street.

Great was the joy of the Parisian _gamins_ at having such a sight
provided for their amusement.

Mole, however, bravely bore the chaff, half of which he did not
understand.

The maker of artificial limbs soon fitted poor Mole with a pair of
legs.

But alas!

No sooner had he stood upon them than his friends burst out in a loud
laugh.

"What is the matter with you?" demanded Mr. Mole, who felt inclined to
stand on his dignity as well as on his new legs.

"Ha, ha, ha!"

"I wonder you don't remember what Goldsmith says," continued Mole.

"What does he say, Mr. Mole?"

"Don't you remember that line about 'the loud laugh that speaks the
vacant mind.' I fear your mind must be very vacant, Mr. Harvey."

"He had you there, Uncle Dick," said young Jack.

"Pooh! But look at his legs."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed young Jack in turn.

Mr. Mole's trousers, it will be recollected, had been cut away below
the knees immediately after his railway accident, and now he stood in a
pair of nicely-varnished boots, above which could be seen the various
springs and hinges of his mechanical limbs.

The trouser legs were not longer in proportion than a small boy's
knickerbockers.

By this time, however, a cab or two had turned up, and, the ladies
having been fetched from the r