“Get off my tail,” answered the elderly party, without moving a muscle. “My eccentric friend,” rejoined I, mockingly, “may I be permitted to inquire your street and number?” “Certainly,” he replied, “No. 1, Marle Place, Asphalt Avenue, Hades.” “The devil!” sneered I. “Exactly,” said he; “oblige me by getting off my tail.” I was a little staggered, and by way of rallying my somewhat dazed faculties, offered a cigar: “Smoke?” “Thank you,” said the singular old gentleman, putting it under his coat; “after dinner. Drink?” I was not exactly prepared for this, but did not know if it would be safe to decline, and so putting the proffered flask to my lips pretended to swig elaborately, keeping my mouth tightly closed the while. “Good article,” said I, returning it. He simply remarked, “You’re a fool,” and emptied the bottle at a gulp. “And now,” resumed he, “you will confer a favour I shall highly appreciate by removing your feet from my tail.” There was a slight shock of earthquake, and all the skeletons in sight arose to their feet, stretched themselves and yawned audibly. Without moving from his seat, the old gentleman rapped the nearest one across the skull with his gold-headed cane, and they all curled away to sleep again. “Sire,” I resumed, “indulge me in the impertinence of inquiring your business here at this hour.” “My business is none of yours,” retorted he, calmly; “what are you up to yourself?” “I have been picking up some bones,” I replied, carelessly. “Then you are—” “I am—” “A Ghoul!” “My good friend, you do me injustice. You have doubtless read very frequently in the newspapers of the Fiend in Human Shape whose actions and way of life are so generally denounced. Sire, you see before you that maligned party!” There was a quick jerk under the soles of my feet, which pitched me prone upon the ground. Scrambling up, I saw the old gentleman vanishing behind an adjacent sandhill as if the devil were after him. The Mistake of a Life The hotel was in flames. Mr. Pokeweed was promptly on hand, and tore madly into the burning pile, whence he soon emerged with a nude female. Depositing her tenderly upon a pile of hot bricks, he mopped his steaming front with his warm coat-tail. “Now, Mrs. Pokeweed,” said he, “where will I be most likely to find the children? They will naturally wish to get out.” The lady assumed a stiffly vertical attitude, and with freezing dignity replied in the words following: “Sir, you have saved my life; I presume you are entitled to my thanks. If you are likewise solicitous regarding the fate of the person you have mentioned, you had better go back and prospect round till you find her; she would probably be delighted to see you. But while I have a character to maintain unsullied, you shall not stand there and call me Mrs. Pokeweed!”