“God bless you, Frank Reade,” the lady exclaimed, feelingly.
After some further talk they parted for the night.
The inventor was accompanied by a little old negro named Pomp, and a rollicking, red-headed, pug-nosed Irishman named Barney O’Shea, who always went with him on his travels, and lived in Readestown.
Both were inveterate practical jokers; the coon was a good cook and played the banjo, and the Celt was an expert violinist, and ever ready for a fight or fun of any kind, while both were greatly devoted to the inventor.
They were domiciled in the hotel with Frank.
On the following morning the coon woke up early, dressed himself, and going out into the hall heard Barney snoring in his room.
“Golly! wha’ lazy feller dat I’ishman am,” muttered the darky, with a grin, as he paused outside of Barney’s room. “Specs he sleep de whole lib long day ef I done let him. Wondah if I kin git in dar?”
He tried the door, found it unlocked, and entered the bedroom.
The Celt lay on his back, with his month wide open, and Pomp stole over to the wash-basin, turned on the freezing cold water full force, put his finger over the faucet, and squirted it at the sleeper.
Swish—plunk! went the jet against the Irishman’s eye.