“Not until this race is over,” said Mr. Swindles. “Supposing I was to pass the warming-pan down these ‘ere sheets. What do you say, Mr. Leopold? They are beginning to feel a bit cold.”
“Cold! I ‘ope you’ll never go to a ‘otter place. For God’s sake, Mr. Leopold, don’t let him come near me with the warming-pan, or else he’ll melt the little flesh that’s left off me.”
“You ‘ad better not make such a fuss,” said Mr. Leopold; “if you don’t do what you are told, you’ll have to take salts again and go for another walk with William.”
“If we don’t warm up them sheets ‘e’ll dry up,” said Mr. Swindles.
“No, I won’t; I’m teeming.”
“Be a good boy, and you shall have a nice cut of mutton when you get up,” said Mr. Leopold.
“How much? Two slices?”
“Well, you see, we can’t promise; it all depends
