The Fiends Delight | Page 3

statement of your business with me at this hour."
The disembodied party sank uninvited into a chair, spread out his knees
and stared blankly at a Dutch clock with an air of weariness and
profound discouragement. Perceiving that his guest was making
himself tolerably comfortable my friend turned again to his figures, and
silence reigned supreme. The fire in the grate burned noiselessly with a
mysterious blue light, as if it could do more if it wished; the Dutch
clock looked wise, and swung its pendulum with studied exactness, like
one who is determined to do his precise duty and shun responsibility;
the cat assumed an attitude of intelligent neutrality. Finally the spectre
trained his pale eyes upon his host, pulled in a long breath and

remarked:
"Jake, I'm yur dead father. I come back to have a talk with ye 'bout the
way things is agoin' on. I want to know 'f you think it's right notter
recognise yur dead parent?"
"It is a little rough on you, dear," replied the son without looking up,
"but the fact is that [7 and 3 are 10, and 2 are 12, and 6 are 18] it is so
long since you have been about [and 3 off are 15] that I had kind of
forgotten, and [2 into 4 goes twice, and 7 into 6 you can't] you know
how it is yourself. May I be permitted to again inquire the precise
nature of your present business?"
"Well, yes-if you wont talk anything but shop I s'pose I must come to
the p'int. Isay! you don't keep any thing to drink 'bout yer, do ye-Jake?"
"14 from 23 are 9-I'll get you something when we get done. Please
explain how we can serve one another."
"Jake, I done everything for you, and you ain't done nothin' for me
since I died. I want a monument bigger'n Dave Broderick's, with an
eppytaph in gilt letters, by Joaquin Miller. I can't git into any kind o'
society till I have 'em. You've no idee how exclusive they are where I
am."
This dutiful son laid down his pencil and effected a stiffly vertical
attitude. He was all attention:
"Anything else to-day?" he asked-rather sneeringly, I grieve to state.
"No-o-o, I don't think of anything special," drawled the ghost
reflectively; "I'd like to have an iron fence around it to keep the cows
off, but I s'pose that's included."
"Of course! And a gravel walk, and a lot of abalone shells, and fresh
posies daily; a marble angel or two for company, and anything else that
will add to your comfort. Have you any other extremely reasonable
request to make of me?"

"Yes-since you mention it. I want you to contest my will. Horace
Hawes is having his'n contested."
"My fine friend, you did not make any will."
"That ain't o' no consequence. You forge me a good 'un and contest
that."
"With pleasure, sir; but that will be extra. Now indulge me in one
question. You spoke of the society where you reside. Where do you
reside?"
The Dutch clock pounded clamorously upon its brazen gong a
countless multitude of hours; the glowing coals fell like an avalanche
through the grate, spilling all over the cat, who exalted her voice in a
squawk like the deathwail of a stuck pig, and dashed affrighted through
the window. A smell of scorching fur pervaded the place, and under
cover of it the aged spectre walked into the mirror, vanishing like a
dream. "Love's Labour Lost."
Joab was a beef, who was tired of being courted for his clean, smooth
skin. So he backed through a narrow gateway six or eight times, which
made his hair stand the wrong way. He then went and rubbed his fat
sides against a charred log. This made him look untidy. You never
looked worse in your life than Joab did.
"Now," said he, "I shall be loved for myself alone. I will change my
name, and hie me to pastures new, and all the affection that is then
lavished upon me will be pure and disinterested."
So he strayed off into the woods and came out at old Abner Davis'
ranch. The two things Abner valued most were a windmill and a
scratching-post for hogs. They were equally beautiful, and the fame of
their comeliness had gone widely abroad. To them Joab naturally paid
his attention. The windmill, who was called Lucille Ashtonbury
Clifford, received him with expressions of the liveliest disgust. His
protestations of affection were met by creakings of contempt, and as he
turned sadly away he was rewarded by a sound spank from one of her

fans. Like a gentlemanly beef he did not deign to avenge the insult by
overturning Lucille Ashtonbury; and it is well for him