“I’m ready,” said Boswell, rising.

“No doubt,” retorted Johnson, severely, “but I am not.  You are a man with one subject—­myself.  I admit it’s a good subject, but you are not the man to treat of it—­here.  You may suffice for mortals, but here it is different.  I can speak for myself.  You can go out and sit on the banks of the Vitriol Reservoir and lecture to the imps if you want to, but when it comes to reminiscences of me I’m on deck myself, and I flatter myself I remember what I said and did more accurately than you do.  Therefore, gentlemen, instead of listening to Boswell at this point, you will kindly excuse him and listen to me.  Ahem!  When I was a boy—­”

“Excuse me,” said Solomon, rising; “about how long is this—­ah—­this entertaining discourse of yours to continue?”

“Until I get through,” returned Johnson, wrathfully.

“Are you aware, sir, that I am on the programme?” asked Solomon.

“I am,” said the Doctor.  “With that in mind, for the sake of our fellow-spooks who are present, I am very much inclined to keep on forever.  When I was a boy—­”

Carlyle rose up at this point.

“I should like to ask,” he said, mildly, “if this is supposed to be an audience of children?  I, for one, have no wish to listen to the juvenile stories of Doctor Johnson.  Furthermore, I have come here particularly to-night to hear Boswell.  I want to compare him with Froude.  I therefore protest against—­”

“There is a roof to this house-boat,” said Doctor Johnson.  “If Mr. Carlyle will retire to the roof with Boswell I have no doubt he can be accommodated.  As for Solomon’s interruption, I can afford to pass that over with the silent contempt it deserves, though I may add with propriety that I consider his most famous proverbs the most absurd bits of hack-work I ever encountered; and as for that story about dividing a baby between two mothers by splitting it in two, it was grossly inhuman unless the baby was twins.  When I was a boy—­”

As the Doctor proceeded, Carlyle and Solomon, accompanied by the now angry Boswell, left the room, and my account of the Story-tellers’ Night must perforce stop; because, though I have never heretofore confessed it, all my information concerning the house-boat on the Styx has been derived from the memoranda of Boswell.  It may be interesting to the reader to learn, however, that, according to Boswell’s account, the Story-tellers’ Night was never finished; but whether this means that it broke up immediately afterwards in a riot, or that Doctor Johnson is still at work detailing his reminiscences, I am not aware, and I cannot at the moment of writing ascertain, for Boswell, when I have the pleasure of meeting him, invariably avoids the subject.

CHAPTER XI:  AS TO SAURIANS AND OTHERS

It was Noah who spoke.

“I’m glad,” he said, “that when I embarked at the time of the heavy rains that did so much damage in the old days, there weren’t any dogs like that fellow Cerberus about.  If I’d had to feed a lot of three-headed beasts like him the Ark would have run short of provisions inside of ten days.”