“No,” said the Ferryman. “Put your neck in this noose, and I will tow you over. It is the only way,” he added, seeing that the passenger was about to complain of the accommodations.
In due time he was dragged across, half strangled, and dreadfully beslubbered by the feculent waters. “There,” said the Ferryman, hauling him ashore and disengaging him, “you are now in the City of Political Distinction. It has fifty millions of inhabitants, and as the colour of the Filthy Pool does not wash off, they all look exactly alike.”
“Alas!” exclaimed Jamrach, weeping and bewailing the loss of all his possessions, paid out in tips and tolls; “I will go back with you.”
“I don’t think you will,”, said the Ferryman, pushing off; “this city is situated on the Island of the Unreturning.”
The Party Over There
A Man in a Hurry, whose watch was at his lawyer’s, asked a Grave Person the time of day.
“I heard you ask that Party Over There the same question,” said the Grave Person. “What answer did he give you?”
“He said it was about three o’clock,” replied the Man in a Hurry; “but he did not look at his watch, and as the sun is nearly down, I think it is later.”
“The fact that the sun is nearly down,” the Grave Person said, “is immaterial, but the fact that he did not consult his timepiece and make answer after due deliberation and consideration is fatal. The answer given,” continued the Grave Person, consulting his own timepiece, “is of no effect, invalid, and absurd.”
“What, then,” said the Man in a Hurry, eagerly, “is the time of day?”