Hemadeclawingmotionswithhishands。\"Isay！\"heexclaimed，\"Mr。Laurier。Look’ere——Iwant——aboutthatButteridgemachine——。\"
Mr。Laurier，sittingonanadjacenttable，withamagnificentgesture，arrestedthediscourseoftheflat—voicedman。\"What’sHEsaying？\"saidhe。
ThenthewholecompanyrealisedthatsomethingwashappeningtoBert;eitherhewassuffocatingorgoingmad。Hewasspluttering。
\"Look’ere！Isay！’Oldonabit！\"andtremblingandeagerlyunbuttoninghimself。
Hetoreopenhiscollarandopenedvestandshirt。Heplungedintohisinteriorandforaninstantitseemedhewaspluckingforthhisliver。Thenashestruggledwithbuttonsonhisshouldertheyperceivedthisflattenedhorrorwasinfactaterriblydirtyflannelchest—protector。InanothermomentBert，inastateofirregulardecolletage，wasstandingoverthetabledisplayingasheafofpapers。