"I'll play a requiem to the rodent," he said, "that will make him turn
over in his grave, wherever that interesting spot may be."
This he did, and the effect was superb, and no doubt the deceased did
turn over in his grave, for the improvisation called into play every
pipe on the whole instrument. However, I could see that this constant
pelting at the hands of an unkind fate through the medium of his most
cherished possession was having its effect upon Carson's hitherto
impregnable philosophy. When he spoke of the organ it was with a tone of
suppressed irritation which boded ill, and finally I was not surprised
to hear that he had offered to give the organ away.
"After all," he said, "I made a mistake--flying so high. A man doesn't
want a church-organ in his house any more than he wants an elephant for
a lap-dog. I've offered it to the Unitarian Church."
I felt a little hurt about this, for my own church was badly in need of
an instrument of that nature, but I said nothing, and considering the
amount of trouble the organ had given I got over my regret when I
realized that the Unitarian Church, and not mine, was shortly to have
it. In this, however, I was mistaken, for, after due deliberation, the
Unitarians decided that the organ was so very large that they'd have to
build a new church to go with it, and so declined it with thanks.
Carson bit his lip and then offered it to us. "Don't seem to be able to
give it away," he said.
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