"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?"