“It isn’t that,” he answers, interrupting me; “but I don’t want you to laugh at me. I thought if you were a married man you would be able to understand the thing better. Have you got an intelligent woman in the house?”
“We’ve got women,” I says. “As to their intelligence, that’s a matter of opinion; they’re the average sort of women. Shall I call the chambermaid?”
“Ah, do,” he says. “Wait a minute,” he says; “we’ll open it first.”
He began to fumble with the cord, then he suddenly lets go and begins to chuckle to himself.
“No,” he says, “you open it. Open it carefully; it will surprise you.”
I don’t take much stock in surprises myself. My experience is that they’re mostly unpleasant.
“What’s in it?” I says.
“You’ll see if you open it,” he says: “it won’t hurt you.” And off he goes again, chuckling to himself.
“Well,” I says to myself, “I hope you’re a harmless specimen.” Then an idea struck me, and I stopped with the knot in my fingers.
“It ain’t a corpse,” I says, “is it?”