Part 37 (1/2)

”I'll be sanctified to see it,” said the ring-master.

Peter arose with kingly mien, shaking the rheumatism out of his joints and the gout out of his toes, and then swelling out his breast to a boa constrictor size after swallowing a goat, wheezing like a horse with the heaves. He led the way, with his robe dragging on the carpet, to circ.u.mnavigate the building, the ghost and the ring-master following, respectively, with the sanctimonious bearing of laymen following a high-priest.

”The kiddies are out this evening attending a party, and I have all this great house to myself--” waving his right hand around like a preacher of the Word. ”We will go up the stairs first.”

Up the stairs Peter went, the ghost next after him, looking ahead and considering fearfully what he would feel like should the king lose his balance, in mounting the steps, which he seemed likely to do constantly as he elevated himself lift after lift, so clumsily did Peter climb; and the circus-master took his time, a safe distance behind, with a sweet air of pa.s.sivity in his patience over Peter's laughable pomposity.

Peter led the way through brilliant halls and brilliant rooms, without a dark corner in any of them, nor even a blind closet in which to conceal the proverbial family ghost; which shadowy being, however, was not likely to seek a place of concealment in this home, since, as it happens, he had evaded all these pure pleasures of domesticity for so many years; so it would be an hazardous presumption to expect the stalker of family trouble to abide with him.

”Where're you going to keep the family ghost?” asked the real ghost.

”You old batch! Do you think I'd tolerate him round here?” said Peter, with connubial pride. ”Cobb has a cinch on them all; eh, Cobb?” with a refreshened squint towards Cobb.

”Don't be so rude, Peter, as to bring me into your argumentations with Monroe here, whose own reputation needs a little stringing up,”

responded Cobb.

”Never mind your moralizing--show us your house,” replied the ghost, without being the least irritated.

When they came to the bath room, they all stepped within; and the visitors were charmed. Peter took on a new halo of beamingness as he saw how delighted his patrons were over this dream of modern bathery, with its s.h.i.+ning fixtures and alabastine walls.

”Do you bathe, Peter?” asked the ghost.

”I guess, yes--every morning at eight,” answered Peter, with a swell.

”Humph!” responded the ghost; ”and you didn't catch cold the first time?” with no attempt to be facetious.

”Alcohol is a great preventative,” answered Peter.

”Within, or without?” asked the ghost.

”Without; you mummy,” retorted Peter.

”You surprise me, Peter,” said Cobb, as he was testing one of the faucets; ”the last time I saw you, you looked as if you hadn't touched water in years.”

”Once a year then; once a day now; three hundred and sixty-five days in the year,” said Peter, grinning.

”I always believed you had some redeeming qualities,” said Cobb; ”but how does it come you have clean water?” he asked, holding up a gla.s.sful between his eyes and the light.

”Private filter,” answered the king.

”That's infernal water to turn into the public trough,” remarked Cobb.

”I mean this, before it was filtered,” pointing to the gla.s.sful still in his hand.

”It's all they deserve,” said the king, snapping his eyes.

”When ought we to work them for a new system?” asked Cobb, emptying the gla.s.s. ”Pretty decent water, this--when filtered,” he observed, was.h.i.+ng his hands.

”We'll talk about water systems when we get back to business,” answered the king.