The Jovial Ghosts: The Misadventures of Topper by Thorne Smith

A shaft of hazy sunlight sifting through moist green leaves found its way into Mr. Topper's room. After fingering the bedspread delicately it finally crept up to his strangely innocent-looking face, now lying unprotected beneath a nocturnal gathering of whiskers. Topper stirred fretfully and rolled over on his side. In his heart there was a fierce desire to remain oblivious of life, but somewhere within his subconscious lurked a painful suspicion that all was not well with the world, or at least, that part of the world which he, Topper, personally occupied. He half opened his eyes and squinted at the room. Had there not been a man with an ugly club? Yes, there had been such a man. And had not Marion Kerby done violence to this person? The fact was not to be denied. Topper was clear about that.

"What a life! " he thought to himself. "What a series of calamities! Every morning I wake up in a different place and under more depressing circumstances. It's like a curse."