Bleak poured out three fingers of whiskey, and held up the baby tumbler.

“Here’s to the happy couple!” he cried, and drank it in one swift, practiced gesture.  He then swallowed about a tablespoonful of the water.  Jerry removed the utensils, again wiped the immaculate bar, and rang the cashless cash-register.  The Perpetual Souse smiled happily.

“That’s how it’s done,” he said.  “Do you remember?”

“We’re just back from South America,” said Quimbleton.

“Some of the boys from the old Balloon office were in here the other day,” said Bleak.  “I’m afraid it was rather too much for them—­in an emotional way, I mean.  I tossed off a few for their benefit, and one of them—­the cartoonist he used to be, perhaps you remember him—­fainted with excitement.”

“Well, how do you like the job?” said Quimbleton.

Bleak did not answer this directly.  Making an apology to Jerry and promising to be back in a few minutes, he escorted his visitors round the temple and gave them some of the picture postcards of himself that were sold to souvenir hunters at five cents each.  He showed them the cafeteria for the convenience of visitors, the Hostess House (where they found Mrs. Bleak comfortably installed), the ice-making machinery, the private brewery, and the motor-truck used to transport supplies.  In a corner of the garden they found the children playing.

“It’s a good thing the children enjoy playing with empty bottles,” said Bleak.  “It’s getting to be quite a problem to know what to do with them.  I’m using some of them to make a path across the lawn, bury them bottom up, you know.

“But you ask how I like it?  I would never admit it before Jerry, because the good fellow expects more of me than I am able to fulfill, but as a matter of fact this is hardly a one-man job.  There ought to be at least seven of us, each to go on duty one day a week.  No—­you see, being a kind of government museum, I don’t even get Sundays off because lots of people can only get here that day.  Next after Mount Vernon and Independence Hall, I get more visitors than any other national shrine.  And almost all of them expect me to have a go at their favorite drink while they’re watching me.  Being what you might call the most public spirited man in the country, I have to oblige them as much as possible.  But I doubt whether I shall be a candidate for reelection.

“I think the government has rather overestimated my capacity,” he continued.  “They import a shipload of stuff from abroad every month, and send an auditor here to check over my empties.  I’ve been hard put to it to get away with all the stuff.  I’ve had to fall back on your old plan of using wine to irrigate the garden.  It’s had rather a dissipating effect on the birds and insects, though.  Really, you ought to spend an evening here some time.  The birds sing all night long:  they have to sleep it off in the morning.  A robin with a hang-over is one of the funniest things in the world.”