_Whi._ Well, between ourselves, I think we may look for his apparition at an early date. Unless the necessaries of life are considerably cheaper in the other world than in this, Tom Cobb’s five and twenty pounds must be as shadowy as himself by this time. _Mat._ But if he comes to life, who’s to kill him again? _Whi._ Oh, your papa will have to kill him; it’s his turn. Besides, it’s a colonel’s business to kill people. _Mat._ And a doctor’s, too. _Whi._ Yes, Matilda. But we don’t _pay_ people to die: they pay us to kill ’em. It’s the rule of the profession. [_Exeunt MATILDA and WHIPPLE._ _Enter TOM COBB, preceded by _Footman_. TOM is very seedy and dirty, and his boots are in holes._ _Footman._ If you’ll take a seat, sir, I’ll tell the Colonel you want to see him. What name shall I say? _Tom_ (_aside_). If I give him my real name he’ll faint. (_Aloud._) The Duke of Northumberland. (_Aside._) That’ll draw him. (_Aloud._) I haven’t a card. (_FOOTMAN is incredulous. He is about to go, but returns and removes tray with sherry; then exit._) Well, nicely the old scoundrel’s feathered his nest, upon my word! Real Axminster, satin furniture, ancestors, busts! And this has been going on for three months, and I only heard of it yesterday. Why, he’s made me accessory to a forgery, and I’m being advertised for in every paper in the kingdom! Why, it’s penal servitude! Who’d think an Irish colonel could be such a scoundrel! Well, you never know when you’re safe in this world; upon my soul, you don’t. I never met a man in my life whose manner and appearance inspired me with so much confidence. _Enter O’FIPP._ Well, upon my word, Colonel O’Fipp, you’re a nice officer, you are! I make a will more by way of a joke than anything else, and you have the face to apply it to the property of a friendless old man who went by my name! Why, it’s robbery! it’s forgery! and Docket and Tape are offering £50 reward to any one who can give information about me! Now, look here--destroy that will and restore the property, or I’ll answer this advertisement this very minute. I will; upon my soul and honour, I will--there! _O’Fi._ I believe I have the honour of addressin’ the Jook of Northumberland. _Tom._ Oh, don’t talk nonsense, Colonel; you know me well enough. _O’Fi._ Am I to onderstand, sorr, that ye’re not the distinguished nobleman you represented yerself to be? _Tom._ Oh, haven’t I been deceived in you! Oh, Colonel, Colonel! you _have_ turned out treacherous; upon my soul, you have! _O’Fi._ I’m at a loss to comprehend your meanin’, sorr. Will ye oblige me by informing me whom I have the honour of addressin’? _Tom._ You’ve the honour of addressing a miserable, poor devil, who’ll be standing alongside of you at the Old Bailey bar in about three weeks, if he’s not very much mistaken. _O’Fi._ Upon my wurrd, sorr, ye’ve got the advantage of me.