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- 10542
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T03:55:03.883Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 10470
- text
- night and early morning, smothered the sound. At the lurking inquietude
of her companions, my wife was indignant; the more so, as she seemed to
glory in her own exemption from panic. When breakfast was cleared away
she took my watch, and, placing it on the table, addressed the supposed
spirits in it, with a jocosely defiant air:
‘There, tick away, let us see who can tick loudest!’
All that day, while abroad, I thought of the mysterious table. Could
Cotton Mather speak true? Were there spirits? And would spirits haunt a
tea-table? Would the Evil One dare show his cloven foot in the bosom of
an innocent family? I shuddered when I thought that I myself, against
the solemn warnings of my daughters, had wilfully introduced the cloven
foot there. Yea, three cloven feet. But, toward noon, this sort of
feeling began to wear off. The continual rubbing against so many
practical people in the street, brushed such chimeras away from me. I
remembered that I had not acquitted myself very intrepidly either on the
previous night or in the morning. I resolved to regain the good opinion
of my wife.
To evince my hardihood the more signally, when tea was dismissed, and
the three rubbers of whist had been played, and no ticking had been
heard--which the more encouraged me--I took my pipe, and, saying that
bed-time had arrived for the rest, drew my chair toward the fire, and,
removing my slippers, placed my feet on the fender, looking as calm and
composed as old Democritus in the tombs of Abdera, when one midnight the
mischievous little boys of the town tried to frighten that sturdy
philosopher with spurious ghosts.
And I thought to myself, that the worthy old gentleman had set a good
example to all times in his conduct on that occasion. For, when at the
dead hour, intent on his studies, he heard the strange sounds, he did
not so much as move his eyes from his page, only simply said: ‘Boys,
little boys, go home. This is no place for you. You will catch cold
here.’ The philosophy of which words lies here: that they imply the
foregone conclusion, that any possible investigation of any possible
spiritual phenomena was absurd; that upon the first face of such things,
the mind of a sane man instinctively affirmed them a humbug, unworthy
the least attention; more especially if such phenomena appear in tombs,
since tombs are peculiarly the place of silence, lifelessness, and
solitude; for which cause, by the way, the old man, as upon the occasion
in question, made the tombs of Abdera his place of study.
Presently I was alone, and all was hushed. I laid down my pipe, not
feeling exactly tranquil enough now thoroughly to enjoy it. Taking up
one of the newspapers, I began, in a nervous, hurried sort of way, to
read by the light of a candle placed on a small stand drawn close to the
fire. As for the apple-tree table, having lately concluded that it was
rather too low for a reading-table, I thought best not to use it as such
that night. But it stood not very distant in the middle of the room.
Try as I would, I could not succeed much at reading. Somehow I seemed
all ear and no eye; a condition of intense auricular suspense. But ere
long it was broken.
Tick! tick! tick!
Though it was not the first time I had heard that sound; nay, though I
had made it my particular business on this occasion to wait for that
sound, nevertheless, when it came, it seemed unexpected, as if a cannon
had boomed through the window.
Tick! tick! tick!
I sat stock-still for a time, thoroughly to master, if possible, my
first discomposure. Then rising, I looked pretty steadily at the table;
went up to it pretty steadily; took hold of it pretty steadily; but let
it go pretty quickly; then paced up and down, stopping every moment or
two, with ear pricked to listen. Meantime, within me, the contest
between panic and philosophy remained not wholly decided.
Tick! tick! tick!
- title
- Chunk 5