Christopher Morley - In The Sweet Dry And Dry

Jerry flew to attention behind the three-foot bar, and they turned to see their friend enter through the bronze swinging doors.

"Well, well!" cried Bleak. "This is a delightful surprise!"

He was dressed in a lounging suit of fine texture, and while he seemed a little thinner and paler, and his eyes a little weary, he was in excellent spirits.

"Come," he said, "you're just in time for a bite of lunch. Jerry, what's on the counter to-day?"

Jerry bustled proudly over to the free-lunch counter, whipped off the steam-covers, and disclosed a fragrant joint of corned beef nestling among cabbages and boiled potatoes. With the delight of the true artist he seized a long narrow carving knife, gave it a few passes along a steel, and sliced off generous portions of the beef onto plates bearing the P. S. monogram. This they supplemented with other selections from the liberally supplied free-lunch counter. Soft, crumbling orange cheese, pickles, smoked sardines, chopped liver, olives, pretzels-all the now-forgotten appetizers were laid out on broad silver platters.

"I wish I could offer you a drink," said Bleak, "but as you know, it would be unconstitutional. With your permission, I shall have to have something. My office hours begin shortly, and some one might come in."

He took up his station at the little bar behind the velvet cord, and slid his left foot onto the miniature rail. Jerry, with the air of an artist about to resume work on his favorite masterpiece, stood expectant.

"A little Scotch, Jerry," said Bleak.

In the manner reminiscent of an elder day Jerry wiped away imaginary moisture from the mahogany with a deft circular movement of a white cloth. Turning to the gleaming pyramid of glassware, he set out the decanter of whiskey, a small empty glass, and a twin glass two-thirds full of water. His motions were elaborately careless and automatic, but he was plainly bursting with joy to be undergoing such expert and affectionate scrutiny.

Bleak poured out three fingers of whiskey, and held up the baby tumbler.

"Here's to the happy couple!" he cried, and drank it in one swift, practiced gesture. He then swallowed about a tablespoonful of the water. Jerry removed the utensils, again wiped the immaculate bar, and rang the cashless cash-register. The Perpetual Souse smiled happily.

"That's how it's done," he said. "Do you remember?"

"We're just back from South America," said Quimbleton.

"Some of the boys from the old Balloon office were in here the other day," said Bleak. "I'm afraid it was rather too much for them-in an emotional way, I mean. I tossed off a few for their benefit, and one of them-the cartoonist he used to be, perhaps you remember him-fainted with excitement."

"Well, how do you like the job?" said Quimbleton.

Bleak did not answer this directly. Making an apology to Jerry and promising to be back in a few minutes, he escorted his visitors round the temple and gave them some of the picture postcards of himself that were sold to souvenir hunters at five cents each. He showed them the cafeteria for the convenience of visitors, the

Hostess House (where they found Mrs. Bleak comfortably installed), the ice-making machinery, the private brewery, and the motor-truck used to transport supplies. In a corner of the garden they found the children playing.

"It's a good thing the children enjoy playing with empty bottles,"

said Bleak. "It's getting to be quite a problem to know what to do with them. I'm using some of them to make a path across the lawn, bury them bottom up, you know.

"But you ask how I like it? I would never admit it before Jerry, because the good fellow expects more of me than I am able to fulfill, but as a matter of fact this is hardly a one-man job.

There ought to be at least seven of us, each to go on duty one day a week. No-you see, being a kind of government museum, I don't even get Sundays off because lots of people can only get here that day. Next after Mount Vernon and Independence Hall, I get more visitors than any other national shrine. And almost all of them expect me to have a go at their favorite drink while they're watching me. Being what you might call the most public spirited man in the country, I have to oblige them as much as possible. But

I doubt whether I shall be a candidate for reelection.

"I think the government has rather overestimated my capacity," he continued. "They import a shipload of stuff from abroad every month, and send an auditor here to check over my empties. I've been hard put to it to get away with all the stuff. I've had to fall back on your old plan of using wine to irrigate the garden.

It's had rather a dissipating effect on the birds and insects, though. Really, you ought to spend an evening here some time. The birds sing all night long: they have to sleep it off in the morning. A robin with a hang-over is one of the funniest things in the world."

"We saw one!" cried Theodolinda. "He was more than hanging overhe had fallen right off!"

"There's a butterfly here," said Bleak-"Rather a friend of mine, who can give a bumble bee the knock-out after he gets his drop of rum. I've seen him chase a wasp all over the lot."

From the temple came the sound of chimes striking twelve, and down in the valley they heard the whistle of a train.

"There's the excursion train leaving Souse Junction," said Bleak.

"I must get back to the bar!"

They returned to the shrine, and Bleak entered his little enclosure.

"Jerry," he said, "the crowd will soon be here. I must get busy.

What do you recommend?"

"Better stick to the Scotch," said Jerry, and put the decanter on the mahogany. Bleak drank two slugs hastily, and turned to his friends with an almost wistful air.

"Come again and stay longer," he said. "I see so many strangers, I

get homesick for a friendly face." He called Quimbleton aside.

"Does Mrs. Quimbleton keep up her trances?" he whispered.

"Not recently," said Virgil. "You see, in South America there was no necessity-but when we get settled-"

"You are a lucky fellow," whispered Bleak. "All the enjoyment without any of the formalities!" And he added aloud, grasping their hands, "Next time, come in the evening. A man in my line of work is hardly at his best before nightfall."

As they walked back to the plane, Mr. and Mrs. Quimbleton saw the excursionists, a thousand or so, hastening through the park on foot and in huge sight-seeing cars where men with megaphones were roaring comments. One group of pedestrians bore a large banner lettered EGG NOG MEMORIAL ASSOCIATION OF CAMDEN, N. J.

"Poor Mr. Bleak!" said Theodolinda. "On top of all that Scotch!"

When they took the air again they circled over the temple at a safe height. They could see the crowd gathered densely round the little white columns. Virgil shut off the motor for a moment, and even at that distance they could hear the sound of cheers.

Bishop Chuff sat sourly in his office and sighed for more worlds to canker. Round the room stood the tall filing cases containing card indexes of prohibited offences, and he looked gloomily over the crowded drawers in the vain hope of finding something that had been overlooked. He pulled out a drawer at random-Schedule K-36, Minor Social Offenses-and ran his embittered eye over a card. It was marked Conversational Felonies, and began thus:

Arguing

Blandishing

Buffoonery

Contradicting

Demurring

Ejaculating

Exaggerating

Facetiousness

Giggling

Hemming and Hawing

Implying

Insisting

Jesting

Each item also referred to another card on which the penalty was noted and legal test cases summarized.

"No," he brooded, "there is nothing left."