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That's where you go, Mister.
To Hell.' And he cut rope. Down he go, patatrac! round and round in
air, like firework wheel, on to first rock--pa-pa-pa-paff! Six hundred
feets. After that he arrive, all messy, in water. That so, gentlemens.
Gone where to? Swim to Philadelphia? I don't think! Him drownded, sure.
Ha, ha, ha! Nice old man, when he come home that morning, he laugh. He
laugh. He just laugh. He laugh first quiet, then loud. He laugh all the
time, and soon family too. He laugh for ten days, till he nearly die.
Got well again, and live plenty good years after. In Paradise to-day,
God rest his soul! And never found out, no never. Fine judge on
Nepenthe. Always fine judge here. He know everything, and he know
nothing. Understand? All nice people here. That so, gentlemens."
He told the tale with Satanic gusto, rocking himself to and fro as
though convulsed with some secret joy. Then, after expectorating
violently, he resumed the oars which had been dropped in the heat of
gesticulation.


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387 388 389 390 391 392 393 394 395 396 397 398 399 400 401 402 403 404 405 406 407 408 409 410 411