Finish my milk?
Great blazes! yes, I'll finish it right enough!" and he knocked the tumbler off the table, making a crash of glass and a splash of silver fluid.
Syme was staring at him with a happy curiosity.
"I understand now," he cried; "of course, you're not an old man at all." "I can't take my face off here," replied Professor de Worms.

"It's rather an elaborate make-up.

As to whether I'm an old man, that's not for me to say.

I was thirty-eight last birthday." "Yes, but I mean," said Syme impatiently, "there's nothing the matter with you." "Yes," answered the other dispassionately.

"I am subject to colds." Syme's laughter at all this had about it a wild weakness of relief.
He laughed at the idea of the paralytic Professor being really a young actor dressed up as if for the foot-lights.