(Humorous Story)
A reporter called on a cotton broker one Sunday morning. The man received him in his dressing-room, and after their business talk was over the wonders of the house were taken up. The broker boasted about his Raphaels and hardwood floors, his light plant and French furniture, his gold-plated plumbing and Gobelins, but he boasted above all about his travelling bathtub.
It's onyx, he said, a lovely golden shade, it runs by electricity, on tiny pneumatic tires, smooth and silent. Whenever I don't feel disposed to leave this room it comes in here to me filled, just as I like it, with genuine Atlantic Ocean, brought up from Coney Island and warmed to 80 degrees. It comes in any time I push this button.
Push it now, said the reporter, curiously.
The button was pushed, the doors slid magically open, and the great onyx bath glided in stately silence into the room. But in it sat the millionaire's astonished wife.