kes. Patching chuckled inwardly
at the thought of the incognito, and imagined the sensation that would
be produced by the accidental revelation of his real name. Marcus felt a
momentary humiliation at having consented to this innocent imposture.

Mr. Boolpin, having shaken hands solemnly with the three, asked them to
walk up stairs and look at the hall. They accordingly followed him up a
series of creaking steps.

"Everything in apple-pie order," said Mr. Boolpin. "The three boxes
containing the panorama right side up with care, you see. I had them
carted from the depot. Cost me a dollar. People thought they were
coffins. Ha! ha! Six new tin candlesticks, you observe; also the ceiling
whitewashed; also ten extra seats introduced, making the entire capacity
of the hall three hundred and fifty--giving twelve inches of sitting
room to each person. No extra charge for these fixings, though I made
them expressly on your account. There are some things about this hall to
which I would call your attention. Boo! Boo! Hallo! Hallo! No echo, you
perceive. Likewise notice the fine view from the window." Mr. Boolpin
pointed to a swamp which could be distinctly seen over a housetop toward
the east. "The ventilation is a great feature, too." Mr. Boolpin
directed his pestle toward a trap door in a corner of the ceiling,
through which a quantity of rain had come a night or two previous,
leaving a large wet patch on the floor. "It's almost too cheap for
fifteen dollars a night."

"For what?" asked Tiffles.

"For fifteen dollars," replied Mr. Boolpin, twirling his pestle
playfully. "Of course, not reckoning in the one dollar that you owe me
for cartage. It's too cheap. I ought to have made it twenty dollars."

"Why, Mr. Persimmon, the postmaster here, engaged the hall for five
dollars. Here is his letter mentioning the price." Tiffles produced the
letter, and pointed out the numeral in question.

"It's a 5, without any doubt," rejoined Mr. Boolpin; "but Persimmon had
no authority to name that price. I distinctly told him fifteen dollars.
But here he is. Perhaps he can explain it."

The three turned on their heels, and beheld, standing at the door, a
short, dirty man in a faded suit of black, and a cold-shining satin
vest. He wore an old hat set well back on a bald head, and his cravat
was tied on one side in hangman's fashion. One leg of his trowsers was
tucked into the top of his boot; the other hung down in its proper
position.