"Your mother," said Mr. Poddle, faintly smiling, "does it better. She's used--to doing it. You ain't--done it--quite right--have you? You ain't got--all them hairs--out of the way?"
"Not all," Mr. Poddle gently persisted; "because I can't--see--very well."
While the boy humoured the fancy, Mr. Poddle lay musing--his hand still straying over the coverlet: still feverishly searching.
"I used to think, Richard," he whispered, "that it ought to be done--in public." He paused--a flash of alarm in his eyes. "Do you hear me, Richard?" he asked.
Mr. Poddle frowned--puzzled, it may be, by the distant sound, the muffled, failing rumble, of his own voice.
"I used to think," he repeated, dismissing the problem, as beyond him, "that I'd like to do it--in public."
A man went whistling gaily past the door. The merry air, the buoyant step, were strangely not discordant; nor was the sunshine, falling over the foot of the bed.
"'Last Appearance of a Famous Freak!'" Mr. Poddle elucidated, his eyes shining with delight--returning, all at once, to his old manner. "Git me, Richard?" he continued, excitedly. "'Fitting Finale! Close of a Curious Career! Mr. Henry Poddle, the eminent natural phenomonen, has consented to depart this life on the stage of Hockley's Musee, on Sunday next, in the presence of three physicians, a trained nurse, a minister of the gospel and a undertaker. Unparalleled Entertainment! The management has been at unprecedented expense to git this unique feature. Death Defied! A Extraordinary Educational Exhibition! Note: Mr. Poddle will do his best to oblige his admirers and the patrons of the house by dissolving the mortal tie about the hour of ten o'clock; but the management cannot guarantee that the exhibition will conclude before midnight.'" Mr. Poddle made a wry face--with yet a glint of humour about it. "'Positively,'" said he, "'the last appearance of this eminent freak. No return engagement.'"
Again the buoyant step in the hall, the gaily whistled air--departing: leaving an expectant silence.
"Do it," Mr. Poddle gasped, worn out, "in public. But since I been lyin' here," he added, "lookin' back, I seen the error. The public, Richard, has no feelin'. They'd laugh--if I groaned. I don't like the public--no more. I don't want to die--in public. I want," he concluded, his voice falling to a thin, exhausted whisper, "only your mother--and you, Richard--and----"