“My eccentric friend,” rejoined I, mockingly, “may I be permitted to inquire your street and number?”
“Certainly,” he replied, “No. 1, Marle Place, Asphalt Avenue, Hades.”
“The devil!” sneered I.
“Exactly,” said he; “oblige me by getting off my tail.”
I was a little staggered, and by way of rallying my somewhat dazed faculties, offered a cigar: “Smoke?”
“Thank you,” said the singular old gentleman, putting it under his coat; “after dinner. Drink?”
I was not exactly prepared for this, but did not know if it would be safe to decline, and so putting the proffered flask to my lips pretended to swig elaborately, keeping my mouth tightly closed the while. “Good article,” said I, returning it. He simply remarked, “You’re a fool,” and emptied the bottle at a gulp.
“And now,” resumed he, “you will confer a favour I shall highly appreciate by removing your feet from my tail.”
There was a slight shock of earthquake, and all the skeletons in sight arose to their feet, stretched themselves and yawned audibly. Without moving from his seat, the old gentleman rapped the nearest one across the skull with his gold-headed cane, and they all curled away to sleep again.
“Sire,” I resumed, “indulge me in the impertinence of inquiring your business here at this hour.”