- end_line
- 10993
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:47:57.726Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 10940
- text
- son--careful man--told me at starting this morning, this very morning.
Something about seeing to--something before I got into my berth. What
could it be? Something for safety. Oh, my poor old memory!"
"Let me give a little guess, sir. Life-preserver?"
"So it was. He told me not to omit seeing I had a life-preserver in my
state-room; said the boat supplied them, too. But where are they? I
don't see any. What are they like?"
"They are something like this, sir, I believe," lifting a brown stool
with a curved tin compartment underneath; "yes, this, I think, is a
life-preserver, sir; and a very good one, I should say, though I don't
pretend to know much about such things, never using them myself."
"Why, indeed, now! Who would have thought it? _that_ a life-preserver?
That's the very stool I was sitting on, ain't it?"
"It is. And that shows that one's life is looked out for, when he ain't
looking out for it himself. In fact, any of these stools here will float
you, sir, should the boat hit a snag, and go down in the dark. But,
since you want one in your room, pray take this one," handing it to him.
"I think I can recommend this one; the tin part," rapping it with his
knuckles, "seems so perfect--sounds so very hollow."
"Sure it's _quite_ perfect, though?" Then, anxiously putting on his
spectacles, he scrutinized it pretty closely--"well soldered? quite
tight?"
"I should say so, sir; though, indeed, as I said, I never use this sort
of thing, myself. Still, I think that in case of a wreck, barring
sharp-pointed timbers, you could have confidence in that stool for a
special providence."
"Then, good-night, good-night; and Providence have both of us in its
good keeping."
"Be sure it will," eying the old man with sympathy, as for the moment he
stood, money-belt in hand, and life-preserver under arm, "be sure it
will, sir, since in Providence, as in man, you and I equally put trust.
But, bless me, we are being left in the dark here. Pah! what a smell,
too."
"Ah, my way now," cried the old man, peering before him, "where lies my
way to my state-room?"
"I have indifferent eyes, and will show you; but, first, for the good of
all lungs, let me extinguish this lamp."
The next moment, the waning light expired, and with it the waning flames
of the horned altar, and the waning halo round the robed man's brow;
while in the darkness which ensued, the cosmopolitan kindly led the old
man away. Something further may follow of this Masquerade.
- title
- Chunk 9