ou was afraid to commit suicide?"

"Well?" said Mr. Lister.

"It used to worry me," continued the cook, earnestly. "I used to say to
myself, 'Poor old Jem,' I ses, 'why should 'e suffer like this when he
wants to die? It seemed 'ard.'"

"It is 'ard," said Mr. Lister, "but what about it?"

The other made no reply, but looking at him for the first time, surveyed
him with a troubled expression.

"What about it?" repeated Mr. Lister, with some emphasis.

"You did say you wanted to die, didn't you?" said the cook. "Now
suppose suppose----"

"Suppose what?" inquired the old man, sharply. "Why don't you say what
you're agoing to say?"

"Suppose," said the cook, "some one what liked you, Jem--what liked you,
mind--'eard you say this over and over again, an' see you sufferin' and
'eard you groanin' and not able to do nothin' for you except lend you a
few shillings here and there for medicine, or stand you a few glasses o'
rum; suppose they knew a chap in a chemist's shop?"

"Suppose they did?" said the other, turning pale.

"A chap what knows all about p'isons," continued the cook, "p'isons what
a man can take without knowing it in 'is grub. Would it be wrong, do you
think, if that friend I was speaking about put it in your food to put you
out of your misery?"

"Wrong," said Mr. Lister, with glassy eyes. "Wrong. Look 'ere, cook--"

"I don't mean anything to give him pain," said the other, waving his
hand; "you ain't felt no pain lately, 'ave you, Jem?"

"Do you mean to say," shouted Mr. Lister.

"I don't mean to say anything," said the cook. "Answer my question. You
ain't felt no pain lately, 'ave you?"

"Have--you--been--putting--p'ison--in--my--wittles?" demanded Mr. Lister,
in trembling accents.

"If I 'ad, Jem, supposin' that I 'ad," said the cook, in accents of
reproachful surprise, "do you mean to say that you'd mind?"

"MIND," said Mr. Lister, with fervour. "I'd 'ave you 'ung!"

"But you said you wanted to die," said the surprised cook.

Mr. Lister swore at him with startling vigour. "I'll 'ave you 'ung," he
repeated, wildly.

"Me," said the cook, artlessly. "What for?"

"For giving me p'ison," said Mr. Lister, frantically. "Do you think you
can deceive me by your roundabouts? Do you think I can't see through
you?"

The other with a sphinx-like smile sat unmoved. "Prove it," he said,
darkly. "But supposin' if anybody 'ad been givin' you p'ison, would you
like to take something