y porter: "Here he is, sir," "Yes, don't I know it," meddai'r ditectif gan gythru at ei gyd-swyddog a welai yn eistedd yn welw-wyn ar y sêt, a gofyn iddo: What's the matter Frank? I say, Frank, what's come over you?"
"Oh, the effects of that cursed gas, I suppose, but I'll be better in a moment. Did you—
"Hey!" meddai'r Cymro wrth y porter, "what are you tugging at my coat for, man?"
"You've got the wrong fellow, sir," meddai, "that's the chap you want, sitting at the other end of the seat, there."
"What?" meddai'r swyddog, "that bald-headed chap, without an overcoat, there?"
"Yes," meddai'r porter, "Yes, I tell you that's the fellow." "Frank," ebe'r swyddog, "do you feel well enough to take a peep at ." Ond cyn iddo orffen yr oedd Frank, chwedl yntau, nid yn unig wedi cymryd "peep" ond wedi neidio ymlaen, ar waethaf ei benysgafnder—ond cyn iddo'i gyrraedd, gwelodd Parri ef, a chododd ar ei draed gan gychwyn
"After him, Taffy. After him. Oh! blast this giddiness," A suddodd y swyddog i lawr ar y sêt, gan ochneidio.
Ond yr oedd y Cymro eisoes wedi cyrraedd Parri, ond cyn iddo fedru gafael ynddo, yr oedd Parri wedi disgyn ymlaen ar ei wyneb ar slabiau cerrig y platfform, ac yn ymdreiglo fel petai mewn poenau arteithiol, a'i wyneb yn cael ei ddir-dynnu bob llun, tra craffai'r ddau swyddog a'r porter arno.
"Well," meddai'r Cymro yn ddigyffro, ond yn bur wyliadwrus, "let him do his stuff, but he's not doing a bunk again. I'll see to that."
Ond yr oedd yn amlwg erbyn hyn nad ffugio yr oedd Parri, oblegid dirdynnid ef yn erchyll, ac ymddangosai ei wyneb fel pe wedi troi o'r tu chwith, a'i lygaid fel pe am neidio o'i ben.
"No, it's not a fake," ebe'r ditectif arall, "he is epileptic. Send for the ambulance, Taffy. I'll watch him."
