“It’s very fine to throw the blame On _me_ in such a fashion! Why didn’t you enquire my name The very minute that you came?” I answered in a passion.
“Of course it worries you a bit To come so far on foot— But how was _I_ to blame for it?” “Well, well!” said he. “I must admit That isn’t badly put.
“And certainly you’ve given me The best of wine and victual— Excuse my violence,” said he, “But accidents like this, you see, They put one out a little.
“’Twas _my_ fault after all, I find— Shake hands, old Turnip-top!” The name was hardly to my mind, But, as no doubt he meant it kind, I let the matter drop.
“Good-night, old Turnip-top, good-night! When I am gone, perhaps They’ll send you some inferior Sprite, Who’ll keep you in a constant fright And spoil your soundest naps.
“Tell him you’ll stand no sort of trick; Then, if he leers and chuckles, You just be handy with a stick (Mind that it’s pretty hard and thick) And rap him on the knuckles!
“Then carelessly remark ‘Old coon! Perhaps you’re not aware That, if you don’t behave, you’ll soon Be chuckling to another tune— And so you’d best take care!’
“That’s the right way to cure a Sprite Of such like goings-on— But gracious me! It’s getting light! Good-night, old Turnip-top, good-night!” A nod, and he was gone.
“WHAT’S this?” I pondered. “Have I slept? Or can I have been drinking?” But soon a gentler feeling crept Upon me, and I sat and wept An hour or so, like winking.
“No need for Bones to hurry so!” I sobbed. “In fact, I doubt If it was worth his while to go— And who is Tibbs, I’d like to know, To make such work about?
“If Tibbs is anything like me, It’s _possible_,” I said, “He won’t be over-pleased to be Dropped in upon at half-past three, After he’s snug in bed.
“And if Bones plagues him anyhow— Squeaking and all the rest of it, As he was doing here just now— _I_ prophesy there’ll be a row, And Tibbs will have the best of it!”
[Picture: And Tibbs will have the best of it]
Then, as my tears could never bring The friendly Phantom back, It seemed to me the proper thing To mix another glass, and sing The following Coronach.
‘_And art thou gone_, _beloved Ghost_? _Best of Familiars_! _Nay then_, _farewell_, _my duckling roast_, _Farewell_, _farewell_, _my tea and toast_, _My meerschaum and cigars_!