Beelzy grinned.
“No, sir—they lay hen’s eggs all right, but they’re as hard as Adam’s aunt.”
“I never heard of chickens eating pebbles,” observed Sapphira with a frown. “Do they really relish them?”
“I don’t know, Ma’am,” said Beelzy. “I ain’t never been on speakin’ terms with the hens, Ma’am, and they never volunteered no information. They eat ’em just the same. They’ve got to eat something and up here on these mountains there ain’t anything but gravel for ’em to eat. That’s why they do it. Then when it comes to the eggs, on a diet like that, cobblestones ain’t in it with ’em for hardness, and when you come to bite ’em it takes a week to get ’em soft, an’ a steam drill to get ’em open—an’ this feller kicked at forty minutes! Most likely he’s swearin’ around upstairs now because this iced-water ain’t came; and it ain’t more than two hours since he ordered it neither.”
“What an unreasonable gentleman,” said Sapphira.
“Ain’t he though!” said Beelzy. “And he ain’t over liberal neither. He’s been here two weeks now and all the money I’ve got out of him was a five-dollar bill I found on his bureau yesterday morning. There’s more money in theology than there is in him.”
With this Beelzebub grabbed up the pitcher of water, and bounded out of the room like a frightened fawn. He disappeared into the dark of the corridor, and a few moments later was evidently tumbling head over heels up stairs, if the sounds that greeted the ears of the party in the drawing-room meant anything.
The next morning when there was more leisure for Beelzy the Baron inquired as to the state of his health.
“Oh it’s been pretty good,” said he. “Pretty good. I’m all right now, barrin’ a little gout in my right foot, and ice-water on my knee, an’ a crick in my back, an’ a tired feelin’ all over me generally. Ain’t had much to complain about. Had the measles in December, and the mumps in February; an’ along about the middle o’ May the whoopin’ cough got a holt of me; but as it saved my life I oughtn’t to kick about that.”
Here Beelzy looked gratefully at an invisible something—doubtless the recollection in the thin air of his departed case of whooping cough, for having rescued him from an untimely grave.