When I said this the ghost became very angry, and said—
“Avaunt, fool! and do not torment me. Get thee gone!”
So saying, the ghost snapped his jaws at me in a furious manner, and I barely escaped having my ear bitten off.
I mournfully turned away, sadly grieved that such a bright intellect should have been allowed to evaporate in dreams; but I knew that it was of no use to argue with him, for my own experience with the jumping-jack had taught me what a great power a fixed idea has over the mind.
Another ghost, fearfully emaciated, now attracted my attention. He looked more like the shadow of a skeleton than a man, and was evidently at the point of starvation, but engaged in the ludicrous occupation of composing a bill of fare, while he himself had nothing whatever to eat. I looked over his shoulder and saw him write out the following prescription:
Dejeuner à la fourchette.
Huîtres.
Consommé tapioca à la Julienne. Potage crême d’asperges.
Fruites au bleu; sauce à la Russe.
Bœuf à la mode aux maccaroni a l’Italienne.
Selle de mouton Hollandaise.
Œufs bruillé aux melettes.
Emincé de faiseur à la Windsor.
Canard braisé en Bordeaux.
Omelette souflée. Plum pudding.
Purée de pommes et nocles au naturel.
Fromage suisse. Glacé panachée aux gaufres cornets.
Bordeaux. Champagne.
Desert. Café.
“And where are all the good things whose names you have written?” I asked.
“This,” he answered haughtily, “you will have to find out yourself. It is sufficient if I indicate to you the order in which I might eat them if I had them. Does this not satisfy you?”
“It might satisfy my curiosity,” I replied, “but it will not cure your hunger or make you fat. You seem to me to need something more substantial than mere theories.”