"Where is he?" she gasped.

"Eh?" said Mr. Kidd, in a startled voice. "Why here. Don't you know
'im?"

"It's me, Susan," said Mr. Gibbs, in a low voice.

"Oh, I might 'ave known it was a joke," cried Mrs. Gibbs, in a faint
voice, as she tottered to a chair. "Oh,'ow cruel of you to tell me my
pore Joe was alive! Oh, 'ow could you?"

"Lor' lumme," said the incensed Mr. Kidd, pushing Mr. Gibbs forward.
"Here he is. Same as you saw 'im last, except for 'is whiskers. Don't
make that sobbing noise; people'll be coming in."

"Oh! Oh! Oh! Take 'im away," cried Mrs. Gibbs. "Go and play your
tricks with somebody else's broken 'art."

"But it's your husband," said Mr. Brown.

"Take 'im away," wailed Mrs. Gibbs.

Mr. Kidd, grinding his teeth, tried to think. "'Ave you got any marks on
your body, Joe?" he inquired.

"I ain't got a mark on me," said Mr. Gibbs with a satisfied air, "or a
blemish. My skin is as whi--"

"That's enough about your skin," interrupted Mr. Kidd, rudely.