These were two of my talking friends. I stirred not, but sat
silently to listen to their curious conversation, which I now proceed to
give verbatim.
_Parcel fallen upon_.--"What the d--l are you?"
_Parcel that fell_.--"That's my business."
"Is it? I rather think its mine, though. Why don't you look where you're
going?"
"How can I see through three brown papers and a rusty black silk
handkerchief?"
"Ain't there a hole in any of 'em?"
"No."
"That's a pity; but when you've been here as long as I have, the moths
will help you a bit."
"Will they?"
"Certainly."
"I hope not."
"Hope if you like; but you'll find I'm right."
"I trust I didn't hurt you much."
"Not very. Bless you, I'm pretty well used to ill-treatment now. You've
only rubbed the pile of my collar the wrong way, just as that awkward
black rascal would brush me."
"Bless me! I think I know your voice."
"Somehow, I think I know yours."
"You ain't Colonel Tomkins, are you?"
"No."
"Nor Count Castor?"
"No.
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