"Jezebel?" says I. "What on airth do you call me that for?"
"'Cause you're him all over," he says. "He was the feller I used to hear about in Sunday School, the prophet chap that was always croakin' and believed everything was goin' to the dogs. That was Jezebel, wasn't it?"
"No," says I, "that was Jeremiah; Jezebel was the one the dogs went to. And she was a woman, at that."
"Well, all right," he says. "Whatever he or she was they didn't have anything on you when it comes to croaks. What's the objection?"
"Nothin' much. Only I don't know's you've happened to think that Philander might not care to sell his buildin', to us or to anybody else."
That was all right. We could go and see, couldn't we? Well, we could of course—and we did.
[CHAPTER V—A TRAP AND WHAT THE "RAT" CAUGHT IN IT]
Foster run a shebang that was labeled "The Palace Billiard, Pool and Sipio Parlors. Cigars and Tobacco. Tonics, all Flavors. Ice Cream in Season." The "Palace" part was some exaggeration and so was the "Parlors," but the place was the favorite hang-out of all the loafers and young sports in town and the church folks was tumble down on it, callin' it a "gilded hell" and such pious profanity. The gilt had wore off years afore and if the hot place ain't more interestin' than that billiard saloon it must be dull for some of the permanent boarders.
We found Philander asleep back of the soft drink counter and young Erastus Taylor—"Ratty," everybody called him—practicin' pin pool, as usual, at one of the tables. "Ratty" was Ebenezer Taylor's only son and the combination trial and idol of the old man's soul. Ebenezer thought most as much of him as he did of his money, and when you've said that you couldn't make it any stronger. He'd done a heap to make a man of "Rat"—his idea of a man—even separatin' from enough cash to send him to a business college up to Middleboro; but all the boy got from that college was a thunder and lightnin' taste in clothes and a post-graduate course in pool playin'. Pool playin' was the only thing he cared about and he could spot any one of the Ostable sharps four balls and beat 'em hands down. He'd sampled two or three jobs up to Boston, but they always undermined his health and he drifted back home to live on dad and look for another "openin'." I cal'late the pair lived a cat and dog life, for Ratty always wanted money to spend and Ebenezer wanted it to keep. The old man was the wust down on the billiard room of anybody and his son put in most of his time there.
Me and Jim Henry woke up Philander and told him we wanted to talk with him private. He said go ahead and talk; there wa'n't anybody to hear but Ratty, and Rat was just like one of the family. So, as we couldn't do it any different, we went ahead. Jacobs explained that we felt that maybe we might some time or other need a little extry room for our business and, bein' as he—Philander—was handy by and we was always prejudiced in favor of a neighbor and so on, perhaps he'd consider sellin' us his buildin' and lot. Course it didn't make so much difference to him; he could easy move his "Parlors" somewheres else—and similar sweet ile. Philander listened till Jim Henry had poured on the last soothin' drop, and then he laughed.