“There goes my friend Beelzy,” said the Baron, as the pitchers fell. “I am delighted to see him. I was afraid he would not be here this year since I understand he has taken up the study of theology.”
“Theology?” cried Ananias. “In Hades?”
“How foolish,” said Sapphira. “We don’t need preachers here.”
“He’d make an excellent one,” said Mr. Munchausen. “He is a lad of wide experience and his fish and bear stories are wonderful. If he can make them gee7, as he would put it, with his doctrines8 he would prove a tremendous success. Thousands would flock to hear him for his bear stories alone. As for the foolishness of his choice, I think it is a very wise one. Everybody can’t be a stoker, you know.”
At any rate, whatever the reasons for Beelzebub’s presence, whether he had given up the study of theology or not, there he was plying9 his old vocation with the same perfection of carelessness as of yore, and apparently10 no farther along in the study of theology than he was the year before when he bade Mr. Munchausen “good-bye forever” with the statement that now that he was going to lead a pious11 life the chances were he’d never meet his friend again.
“I don’t see why they keep such a careless boy as that,” said Sapphira, as Beelzy at the first landing turned to grin at Mr. Munchausen, emptying the contents of one of his pitchers into the lap of a nervous old gentleman in the office below.
“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 suite12, 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 missionary13 ain’t all jam and buckwheats. It’s kind o’ dangerous too, and as I didn’t exactly relish14 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 overdue15 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 pebbles16.”
“Pebbles?” cried Mr. Munchausen. “What, do they lay Roc’s eggs?”
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 gravel17 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 unreasonable18 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 pitcher2 of water, and bounded out of the room like a frightened fawn19. 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 measles20 in December, and the mumps21 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 whooping23 cough, for having rescued him from an untimely grave.
“That is rather curious, isn’t it?” queried
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