"Don't be so rude, Peter, as to bring me into your argumentations with Monroe here, whose own reputation needs a little stringing up," responded Cobb. "Never mind your moralizing--show us your house," replied the ghost, without being the least irritated. When they came to the bath room, they all stepped within; and the visitors were charmed. Peter took on a new halo of beamingness as he saw how delighted his patrons were over this dream of modern bathery, with its shining fixtures and alabastine walls. "Do you bathe, Peter?" asked the ghost. "I guess, yes--every morning at eight," answered Peter, with a swell. "Humph!" responded the ghost; "and you didn't catch cold the first time?" with no attempt to be facetious. "Alcohol is a great preventative," answered Peter. "Within, or without?" asked the ghost. "Without; you mummy," retorted Peter. "You surprise me, Peter," said Cobb, as he was testing one of the faucets; "the last time I saw you, you looked as if you hadn't touched water in years." "Once a year then; once a day now; three hundred and sixty-five days in the year," said Peter, grinning. "I always believed you had some redeeming qualities," said Cobb; "but how does it come you have clean water?" he asked, holding up a glassful between his eyes and the light. "Private filter," answered the king. "That's infernal water to turn into the public trough," remarked Cobb. "I mean this, before it was filtered," pointing to the glassful still in his hand. "It's all they deserve," said the king, snapping his eyes. "When ought we to work them for a new system?" asked Cobb, emptying the glass. "Pretty decent water, this--when filtered," he observed, washing his hands. "We'll talk about water systems when we get back to business," answered the king. "Do you wash your feet in water or alcohol?" asked the ghost. "Don't get too fresh, Monroe, or I'll loosen up your face with some soap and water," with a hearty chuckle. "Oh, sometimes I forget, Peter, seeing you heretofore as a bear," as a mollifier to his allusions. "You're a corrugated donkey, Monroe," said the king, with a louder chuckle than before, rubbing his hands, this time with a towel between them. "You're a convoluted mule," returned the ghost, tapping the enameled wall with his knuckle, as a clincher to his assertion. "Here, here! You fellows are getting too personal," said Cobb, stepping forward, as if he expected trouble, so as to be ready as a queller of what he thought might lead to a melee. "Hah, ha, ha!" roared Peter, strutting out like a gallinaceous cock. "Cobb, you must pay no attention to Monroe's foolishness," as he swept theatrically along the hallway to the stairs; but still presenting the incongruous habits of a waddling duck.