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A petition signed by half the hospital would have but a poor effect. It was in Skulpit's room that the petition was now lying, waiting such additional signatures as Abel Handy, by his eloquence, could obtain for it. The six marks it bore were duly attested, thus: his his his Abel X Handy, Gregy X Moody, Mathew X Spriggs, mark mark mark
"And if you'll be said by me," continued Handy, "you'll not write your name to it at all, but just put your mark like the others;" the cloud began to clear from Skulpit's brow; "we all know you can do it if you like, but maybe you wouldn't like to seem uppish, you know." "Well, the mark would be best," said Skulpit. "One name and the rest marks wouldn't look well, would it?"
"But you'd know, Jonathan," continued Spriggs, turning to the other friend of Skulpit's, who was sitting on a stool by the table, gazing vacantly at the petition. Jonathan Crumple was a meek, mild man, who had known better days; his means had been wasted by bad children, who had made his life wretched till he had been received into the hospital, of which he had not long been a member.
When the two clergymen appeared, they all uncovered their heads. Handy was slow to do it, and hesitated; but the black coat and waistcoat of which he had spoken so irreverently in Skulpit's room, had its effect even on him, and he too doffed his hat.
Moody had followed with an inkhorn, carefully left behind by Finney; and Spriggs bore aloft, as though it were a sword, a well-worn ink-black pen, which from time to time he endeavoured to thrust into Skulpit's unwilling hand. With the learned man were his two abettors in indecision, William Gazy and Jonathan Crumple.
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