I am not well enough versed,
however, in the diagnosis of this disease to speak with decision
upon the point; and unhappily there were none of my friends of the
"Dial" present. I suggest the idea, nevertheless, because of a certain
species of austere Merry-Andrewism which seemed to beset my poor
friend, and caused him to make quite a Tom-Fool of himself. Nothing
would serve him but wriggling and skipping about under and over
every thing that came in his way; now shouting out, and now lisping
out, all manner of odd little and big words, yet preserving the
gravest face in the world all the time. I really could not make up
my mind whether to kick or to pity him. At length, having passed
nearly across the bridge, we approached the termination of the
footway, when our progress was impeded by a turnstile of some
height. Through this I made my way quietly, pushing it around as
usual. But this turn would not serve the turn of Mr. Dammit. He
insisted upon leaping the stile, and said he could cut a pigeon-wing
over it in the air.
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