Now they'll talk
and spit and smoke for an hour."
But there were no voices and no footsteps. No one was putting his luggage into
the next room. The door shut, and I thanked Providence that I was to be left
in peace. But I was curious to know where the doolies had gone. I got out of
bed and looked into the darkness. There was never a sign of a doolie. Just as
I was getting into bed again, I heard, in the next room, the sound that no man
in his senses can possibly mistake--the whir of a billiard ball down the
length of the slates when the striker is stringing for break. No other sound
is like it. A minute afterwards there was another whir, and I got into bed. I
was not frightened--indeed I was not. I was very curious to know what had
become of the doolies. I jumped into bed for that reason.
Next minute I heard the double click of a cannon and my hair sat up. It is a
mistake to say that hair stands up. The skin of the head tightens and you can
feel a faint, prickly, bristling all over the scalp. That is the hair sitting
up.
There was a whir and a click, and both sounds could only have been made by one
thing--a billiard ball. I argued the matter out at great length with myself;
and the more I argued the less probable it seemed that one bed, one table, and
two chairs--all the furniture of the room next to mine--could so exactly
duplicate the sounds of a game of billiards.
Pages:
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212