LITMIR.BIZ

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note of the knight’s agitation, and perceived a means by which that illustrious courtier could be made useful to him in his scheming for social advancement.

      “I understood you had something to say to me,” said Charon, after he had greeted the others.

      “We have,” said Sir Walter.  “We want you to assume command of this boat.”

      The old fellow’s eyes lighted up with pleasure.

      “You want a captain, eh?” he said.

      “No,” said Confucius, tapping the table with a diamond-studded chop-stick.  “No.  We want a—er—what the deuce is it they call the functionary, Cassius?”

      “Senator, I think,” said Cassius.

      Demosthenes gave a loud laugh.

      “Your mind is still running on Senatorships, my dear Cassius.  That is quite evident,” he said.  “This is not one of them, however.  The title we wish Charon to assume is neither Captain nor Senator; it is Janitor.”

      “What’s that?” asked Charon, a little disappointed.  “What does a Janitor have to do?”

      “He has to look after things in the house,” explained Sir Walter.  “He’s a sort of proprietor by proxy.  We want you to take charge of the house, and see to it that the boat is kept shipshape.”

      “Where is the house?” queried the astonished boatman.

      “This is it,” said Sir Walter.  “This is the house, and the boat too.  In fact, it is a house-boat.”

      “Then it isn’t a new-fangled scheme to drive me out of business?” said Charon, warily.

      “Not at all,” returned Sir Walter.  “It’s a new-fangled scheme to set you up in business.  We’ll pay you a large salary, and there won’t be much to do.  You are the best man for the place, because, while you don’t know much about houses, you do know a great deal about boats, and the boat part is the most important part of a house-boat.  If the boat sinks, you can’t save the house; but if the house burns, you may be able to save the boat.  See?”

      “I think I do, sir,” said Charon.

      “Another reason why we want to employ you for Janitor,” said Confucius, “is that our club wants to be in direct communication with both sides of the Styx; and we think you as Janitor would be able to make better arrangements for transportation with yourself as boatman, than some other man as Janitor could make with you.”

      “Spoken like a sage,” said Demosthenes.

      “Furthermore,” said Cassius, “occasionally we shall want to have this boat towed up or down the river, according to the house committee’s pleasure, and we think it would be well to have a Janitor who has some influence with the towing company which you represent.”

      “Can’t this boat be moved without towing?” asked Charon.

      “No,” said Cassius.

      “And I’m the only man who can tow it, eh?”

      “You are,” said Blackstone.  “Worse luck.”

      “And you want me to be Janitor on a salary of what?”

      “A hundred oboli a month,” said Sir Walter, uneasily.

      “Very well, gentlemen,” said Charon.  “I’ll accept the office on a salary of two hundred oboli a month, with Saturdays off.”

      The committee went into executive session for five minutes, and on their return informed Charon that in behalf of the Associated Shades they accepted his offer.

      “In behalf of what?” the old man asked.

      “The Associated Shades,” said Sir Walter.  “The swellest organization in Hades, whose new house-boat you are now on board of.  When shall you be ready to begin work?”

      “Right away,” said Charon, noting by the clock that it was the hour of midnight.  “I’ll start in right away, and as it is now Saturday morning, I’ll begin by taking my day off.”

      CHAPTER II: A DISPUTED AUTHORSHIP

      “How are you, Charon?” said Shakespeare, as the Janitor assisted him on board.  “Any one here to-night?”

      “Yes, sir,” said Charon.  “Lord Bacon is up in the library, and Doctor Johnson is down in the billiard-room, playing pool with Nero.”

      “Ha-ha!” laughed Shakespeare.  “Pool, eh?  Does Nero play pool?”

      “Not as well as he does the fiddle, sir,” said the Janitor, with a twinkle in his eye.

      Shakespeare entered the house and tossed up an obolus.  “Heads—Bacon; tails—pool with Nero and Johnson,” he said.

      The coin came down with heads up, and Shakespeare went into the pool-room, just to show the Fates that he didn’t care a tuppence for their verdict as registered through the obolus.  It was a peculiar custom of Shakespeare’s to toss up a coin to decide questions of little consequence, and then do the thing the coin decided he should not do.  It showed, in Shakespeare’s estimation, his entire independence of those dull persons who supposed that in them was centred the destiny of all mankind.  The Fates, however, only smiled at these little acts of rebellion, and it was common gossip in Erebus that one of the trio had told the Furies that they had observed Shakespeare’s tendency to kick over the traces, and always acted accordingly.  They never let the coin fall so as to decide a question the way they wanted it, so that unwittingly the great dramatist did their will after all.  It was a part of their plan that upon this occasion Shakespeare should play pool with Doctor Johnson and the Emperor Nero, and hence it was that the coin bade him repair to the library and chat with Lord Bacon.

      “Hullo, William,” said the Doctor, pocketing three balls on the break.  “How’s our little Swanlet of Avon this afternoon?”

      “Worn out,” Shakespeare replied.  “I’ve been hard at work on a play this morning, and I’m tired.”

      “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” said Nero, grinning broadly.

      “You are a bright spirit,” said Shakespeare, with a sigh.  “I wish I had thought to work you up into a tragedy.”

      “I’ve often wondered why you didn’t,” said Doctor Johnson.  “He’d have made a superb tragedy, Nero would.  I don’t believe there was any kind of a crime he left uncommitted.  Was there, Emperor?”

      “Yes.  I never wrote an English dictionary,” returned the Emperor, dryly.  “I’ve murdered everything but English, though.”

      “I could have made a fine tragedy out of you,” said Shakespeare.  “Just think what a dreadful climax for a tragedy it would be, Johnson, to have Nero, as the curtain fell, playing a violin solo.”

      “Pretty good,” returned the Doctor.  “But what’s the use of killing off your audience that way?  It’s better business to let ’em live, I say.  Suppose Nero gave a London audience that little musicale he provided at Queen Elizabeth’s Wednesday night.  How many purely mortal beings, do you think, would have come out alive?”

      “Not one,” said Shakespeare.  “I was mighty glad that night that we were an immortal band.  If it had been possible to kill us we’d have died then and there.”

      “That’s all right,” said Nero, with a significant shake of his head.  “As my friend Bacon makes Ingo say, ‘Beware, my lord, of jealousy.’  You never could play a garden hose, much less a fiddle.”

      “What do you mean my attributing those words to Bacon?” demanded Shakespeare, getting red in the face.

      “Oh, come now, William,” remonstrated Nero.  “It’s all right to pull the wool over the eyes of the mortals.  That’s what they’re there for; but as for us—we’re all in the secret here.  What’s the use of putting on nonsense with us?”

      “We’ll see

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