’But you used to look sad and oldish; you don’t now.  Where did you get all this youth and bubbling cheerfulness?  Give me the address.’

He chuckled blithely, took off his shining tile, pointed to a notched pink circlet of paper pasted into its crown, with something lettered on it, and went on chuckling while I read, ‘J.  B——­, undertaker.’  Then he clapped his hat on, gave it an irreverent tilt to leeward, and cried out—­

’That’s what’s the matter!  It used to be rough times with me when you knew me—­insurance-agency business, you know; mighty irregular.  Big fire, all right—­brisk trade for ten days while people scared; after that, dull policy-business till next fire.  Town like this don’t have fires often enough—­a fellow strikes so many dull weeks in a row that he gets discouraged.  But you bet you, this is the business!  People don’t wait for examples to die.  No, sir, they drop off right along—­there ain’t any dull spots in the undertaker line.  I just started in with two or three little old coffins and a hired hearse, and now look at the thing!  I’ve worked up a business here that would satisfy any man, don’t care who he is.  Five years ago, lodged in an attic; live in a swell house now, with a mansard roof, and all the modern inconveniences.’

‘Does a coffin pay so well.  Is there much profit on a coffin?’

‘Go-way!  How you talk!’ Then, with a confidential wink, a dropping of the voice, and an impressive laying of his hand on my arm; ’Look here; there’s one thing in this world which isn’t ever cheap.  That’s a coffin.  There’s one thing in this world which a person don’t ever try to jew you down on.  That’s a coffin.  There’s one thing in this world which a person don’t say—­“I’ll look around a little, and if I find I can’t do better I’ll come back and take it.”  That’s a coffin.  There’s one thing in this world which a person won’t take in pine if he can go walnut; and won’t take in walnut if he can go mahogany; and won’t take in mahogany if he can go an iron casket with silver door-plate and bronze handles.  That’s a coffin.  And there’s one thing in this world which you don’t have to worry around after a person to get him to pay for.  And that’s a coffin.  Undertaking?—­why it’s the dead-surest business in Christendom, and the nobbiest.

’Why, just look at it.  A rich man won’t have anything but your very best; and you can just pile it on, too—­pile it on and sock it to him—­ he won’t ever holler.  And you take in a poor man, and if you work him right he’ll bust himself on a single lay-out.  Or especially a woman.  F’r instance:  Mrs. O’Flaherty comes in—­widow—­wiping her eyes and kind of moaning.  Unhandkerchiefs one eye, bats it around tearfully over the stock; says—­

’"And fhat might ye ask for that wan?”

’"Thirty-nine dollars, madam,” says I.

’"It ’s a foine big price, sure, but Pat shall be buried like a gintleman, as he was, if I have to work me fingers off for it.  I’ll have that wan, sor.”