“He adds an element of excitement to a not over-exciting place,” explained Mr. Munchausen. “On stormy days here the men make bets on what fool thing Beelzy will do next. He blacked all the russet shoes with stove polish one year, and last season in the rush of his daily labours he filled up the water-cooler with soft coal instead of ice. He’s a great bell-boy, is my friend Beelzy.”
A little while later when Mr. Munchausen and his party had been shown to their suite, Beelzy appeared in their drawing-room and was warmly greeted by Mr. Munchausen, who introduced him to Mr. and Mrs. Ananias.
“Well,” said Mr. Munchausen, “you’re here again, are you?”
“No, indeed,” said Beelzy. “I ain’t here this year. I’m over at the Coal-Yards shovellin’ snow. I’m my twin brother that died three years before I was born.”
“How interesting,” said Sapphira, looking at the boy through her lorgnette.
Beelzy bowed in response to the compliment and observed to the Baron:
“You ain’t here yourself this season, be ye?”
“No,” said Mr. Munchausen, drily. “I’ve gone abroad. You’ve given up theology I presume?”
“Sorter,” said Beelzy. “It was lonesome business and I hadn’t been at it more’n twenty minutes when I realised that bein’ a missionary ain’t all jam and buckwheats. It’s kind o’ dangerous too, and as I didn’t exactly relish the idea o’ bein’ et up by Samoans an’ Feejees I made up my mind to give it up an’ stick to bell-boyin’ for another season any how; but I’ll see you later, Mr. Munchausen. I’ve got to hurry along with this iced-water. It’s overdue now, and we’ve got the kickinest lot o’ folks here this year you ever see. One man here the other night got as mad as hookey because it took forty minutes to soft bile an egg. Said two minutes was all that was necessary to bile an egg softer’n mush, not understanding anything about the science of eggs in a country where hens feeds on pebbles.”
“Pebbles?” cried Mr. Munchausen. “What, do they lay Roc’s eggs?”