David looked the tubs over, first one and then another.
"Wal, Squire," he said at last, in that peculiar voice of his, "I've
sometimes wondered why our Maine folks had so few bathtubs, and
sometimes been a little ashamed on't. But now I see how 'tis. You've got
all the bathtubs there are cornered up here at your place!"
He continued joking about our bathrooms while he was eating supper; and
later, before retiring, he said, "I know you are a neat woman, Aunt
Ruth, and I guess before I go to bed I'll take a turn in your bathroom."
Ellen gave him a lamp; and he went in and shut the door. Fifteen
minutes--half an hour--nearly an hour--passed, and still he was in
there; and we heard him turning on and letting off water, apparently
barrels of it! Occasionally, too, we heard a door open and shut.
At last, when nearly an hour and a half had elapsed, the old Squire,
wondering whether anything were wrong, went to the bathroom door. He
knocked, and on getting a response inquired whether there was any
trouble.
"Doesn't the water run, David?" he asked. "Is it too cold for you? How
are you getting on in there?"
"Getting on beautifully," came the muffled voice of the humorist above
the splashing within.
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