“The last one reminds me of what Bright and I were talking of before you joined us, Frank,” said Ralston.
“Burial?”
“The next thing before it—undertakers. I’m thinking of becoming one. Bright says it’s the only thing I’ve not tried, and that as I have the elements of success in my character, I must necessarily succeed in that. There’s a large establishment of the kind in Sixth Avenue, not far from here. I think I’ll call and see a member of the firm.”
“All right,” assented Miner, with a laugh. “Take me in with you as epitaph-writer. I’ll treat your bodies to a display of the English language that will make them sit up.”
“I believe you could!” exclaimed Bright, with a laugh.
Ralston turned to the left, into Thirty-second Street. His companions, quite indifferent as to the direction they took, followed his lead.
“I’m going to do it, Ham, you know,” said Ralston, as they walked along.
“What?”
“I’m going to the undertaker’s in Sixth Avenue.”
“All right—if you think it amusing.”