Here a servant entered, and said, "Luncheon-time." The old gentlemen, who have excellent appetites, dispersed at once, one of them politely asking us if we would not stop and have a bit of bread and a little mite of cheese.
"There is one thing I have forgotten to show you," said the Superintendent,—"the cell for the confinement of violent and unmanageable Punsters."
We were very curious to see it, particularly with reference to the alleged absence of every object upon which a play of words could possibly be made.
The Superintendent led us up some dark stairs to a corridor, then along a narrow passage, then down a broad flight of steps into another passage-way, and opened a large door which looked out on the main entrance.
"We have not seen the cell for the confinement of 'violent and unmanageable' Punsters," we both exclaimed.
"This is the sell!" he exclaimed, pointing to the outside prospect.
My friend, the Director, looked me in the face so good-naturedly that I had to laugh.
"We like to humor the Inmates," he said. "It has a bad effect, we find, on their health and spirits to disappoint them of their little pleasantries. Some of the jests to which we have listened are not new to me, though I dare say you may not have heard them often before. The same thing happens in general society,—with this additional disadvantage, that there is no punishment provided for 'violent and unmanageable' Punsters, as in our Institution."
We made our bow to the Superintendent and walked to the place where our carriage was waiting for us. On our way, an exceedingly decrepit old man moved slowly towards us, with a perfectly blank look on his face, but still appearing as if he wished to speak.
"Look!" said the Director,—"that is our Centenarian."