d if we ought to allow any other
meaning.

The Bibliotaph got much amusement from what he insisted were the
ill-concealed anxieties of his friend the actor on the subject of a
future state. 'He has acquired,' said the Bibliotaph, 'both a pathetic
and a prophetic interest in that place which begins as heaven does,
but stops off monosyllabically.'

The two men were one day discussing the question of the permanency of
fame, how ephemeral for example was that reputation which depended
upon the living presence of the artist to make good its claim; how an
actor, an orator, a singer, was bound to enjoy his glory while it
lasted, since at the instant of his death all tangible evidence of
greatness disappeared; he could not be proven great to one who had
never seen and heard him. Having reached this point in his
philosophizing the Bibliotaph's player-friend became sentimental and
quoted a great comedian to the effect that 'a dead actor was a mighty
useless thing.' 'Certainly,' said the Bibliotaph, 'having exhausted
the life that now is, and having no hope of the life that is to come.'

Sometimes it pleased the Bibliotaph to maintain that his friend of the
footlights would be in the future state a mere homeless wanderer,
having neither positive satisfaction nor positive discomfort. For the
actor was wont to insist that even if there were an orthodox heaven
its moral opposite were the desirable locality; all the clever and
interesting fellows would be down below. 'Except yourself,' said the
Bibliotaph. 'You, sir, will be eliminated by your own reasoning. You
will be denied heaven because you are not good, and hell because you
are not great.'

On the whole it pleased the Bibliotaph to maintain that his friend's
course was downward, and that the sooner he reconciled himself to his
undoubted fate the better. 'Why speculate upon it?' he said paternally
to the actor, 'your prospective comparisons will one day yield to
reminiscent contrasts.'

The actor was convinced that the Bibliotaph's own past life needed
looking into, and he declared that when he got a chance he was going
to examine the great records. To which the Bibliotaph promptly
responded: 'The books of the recording angel will undoubtedly be open
to your inspection if you can get an hour off to come up. The
probability is that you will be overworked.'

The Bibliotaph never lost an opportunity for teasing. He arrived late
one evening at the house of a friend where he w