I left in a boat."
"A boat? Now, Harry, I know you've turned romancer. I guess your mystic
troubles with the owl--if you really saw an owl--have been a sort of spur
to your fancy."
"Do you mean to say, Tom Langdon, that I didn't see an owl and talk with
him? I tell you I did, and his conversation was a lot more intelligent
than yours, even if it was unpleasant."
"Of course it was," said St. Clair. "Happy's chief joy in life is
talking. You know how he chatters away, Harry. He hates to sleep,
because then he loses good time that he might use in talk. I'll wager
you anything against anything, Harry, that when the Angel Gabriel blows
his horn Happy will rise out of his grave, shaking his shroud and furious
with anger. He'll hold up the whole resurrection while he argues with
Gabriel that he blew his horn either too late or too early, or that it
was a mighty poor sort of a horn anyhow."
"I may do all that, Harry," said Happy, "but Arthur is sure to be the one
who will raise the trouble about the shroud. You know how finicky he
is about his clothes. He'll find fault with the quality of his shroud,
and he'll say that it's cut either too short or too long. Then he'll
insist, while all the billions wait, on draping the shroud in the finest
Greek or Roman toga style, before he marches up to his place on the
golden cloud and receives his harp.
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