The furniture was scanty, and the coverings worn to the thread; and there was nothing movable except a hand-bell in the centre of a round table, and the hats and coats of a considerable party hung round the wall on pegs.
"What sort of a den is this?" said Geraldine.
"That is what I have come to see," replied the Prince. "If they keep live devils on the premises, the thing may grow amusing."
Just then the folding door was opened no more than was necessary for the passage of a human body; and there entered at the same moment a louder buzz of talk, and the redoubtable President of the Suicide Club. The President was a man of fifty or upwards; large and rambling in his gait, with shaggy side-whiskers, a bald top to his head, and a veiled gray eye, which now and then emitted a twinkle. His mouth, which embraced a large cigar, he kept continually screwing round and round and from side to side, as he looked sagaciously and coldly at the strangers. He was dressed in light tweeds, with his neck very open, in a striped shirt collar; and carried a minute book under one arm.
"Good evening," said he, after he had closed the door behind him. "I am told you wish to speak with me."
"We have a desire, sir, to join the Suicide Club," replied the Colonel.
The President rolled his cigar about in his mouth.
"What is that?" he said abruptly.
"Pardon me," returned the Colonel, "but I believe you are the person best qualified to give us information on that point."
"I?" cried the President. "A Suicide Club? Come, come! this is a frolic for All Fools' Day. I can make allowances for gentlemen who get merry in their liquor; but let there be an end to this."
"Call your Club what you will," said the Colonel, "you have some company behind these doors, and we insist on joining it."
