of a summer hotel neither.

"Confound it, man!" he says, "they're sick of hot and cold water,
elevators, bell wires with a nigger on the end, and all that. There's a
raft of old codgers that call themselves 'self-made men'--meanin'
that the Creator won't own 'em, and they take the responsibility
themselves--that are always wishing they could go somewheres like the
shacks where they lived when they were kids. They're always talking
about it, and wishing they could go to the old home and rest. Rest! Why,
say, there's as much rest to this place as there is sand, and there's
enough of that to scour all the knives in creation."

"But 'twill cost so like the dickens to furnish it," I says.

"Furnish it!" says he. "Why, that's just it! It won't cost nothing to
furnish it--nothing to speak of. I went through the house day before
yesterday--crawled in the kitchen window--oh! it's all right, you can
count the spoons--and there's eight of those bedrooms furnished just
right, corded bedsteads, painted bureaus with glass knobs, 'God Bless
Our Home' and Uncle Jeremiah's coffin plate on the wall, rag mats on
the floor, and all the rest. All she needs is a little more of the same
stuff, that I can buy 'round here for next to nothing--I used to buy for
an auction room--and a little paint and fixings, and there she is. All
I want from you folks is a little money--I'll chuck in two hundred and
fifty myself--and you two can be proprietors and treasurers if you want
to. But active manager and publicity man--that's yours cheerily, Peter
Theodosius Brown!" And he slapped his plaid vest.

Well, he talked all the forenoon and all the way to Orham on the train
and most of that night. And when he heaved anchor, Jonadab had agreed