The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1899-05-10

stars. Boon ne removed the maps and
charts in order to continue his chron-
ology. Days passed, during which he
| ate little, staring absently at the serv-
ant, who had lately begun to mani
| fest fear of him. Time that had at
| first appeared interminable now seemed
fairly to fly away from him. He would
walk the circuit of the room, moving
at regular speed, counting as he went
Then he would quicken his pace until,
at his calculation, he completed ten of
these revolutions minute.
Upon one occasion the professor
called upon him, and Warren shouted:
Thief! thief! give me back my
watch!"
The old man retreated hastily, and
now the patient was visited by no one
but the servant, who contented himself
with knocking upon the door and leav-
ing the tray of food outside.
Warren was growing insane. He be-
gan to fear himself, but what he dreaded
most was the loss of time. To Warren
time was deity, alternately worshiped,
entreated and feared.
Summer had passed without any WIS.,
ible change in his condition. His friends
were hopeful still, and the professor,
| although reticent, expressed his belief
in the ultimate success of the rest cure.
Warren had become Indifferent to
everything but his task. The walls of
his room were defaced with knife cuts;
there remained only an inch of space
upon which to mark his interminable
hieroglyphics. Observing this, he be-
gan to argue with himself where he
might begin anew. He shook his head
sadly.
"Only an inch," he muttered.
Then he sprang up, and, seeing a
knife, began to work industriously.
One, two, three, then up to 60, then
60 again, and so on until the space was
completely covered. He was in despair.
| Suddenly a brilliant idea occurred to
him. He gathered up the rugs, rolled
the window. Then he began to cut
marks on the floor. Frequently weary
and bending, his knees callous, his
hands shaking, he would fall asleep,
and wake only to continue his task.
Day and night became alike to him.
Finally the floor was covered. What
was he to do now? AS the problem
confronted him the mailman wept tears
of despair. He sat for some time
crouched beneath a window, then
slow smile diffused itself over his face.
He tore away his sleeve, and, barring his
arm, pricled his skin with the point OF
| the knife. He counted aloud as he did
so, while the blood trickled from the
| wound. Then the mailman grew elated;
there would remain yet another arm,
after that the legs, finally the chest.
His fingers were clotted with blood
as he worked eagerly, tattooing arms
and legs. In the silence of the room he
heard familiar sound. 1t resembled
| the ticking of clock. He paused twice
| to listen. Yes, he was not mad; no one
could mistake the steady ''tick, tick.
A clock! He sprang to his feet, the
knife gathering upon the floor. A
clock! Where was it? He dashed about
the room. He could see nothing-the
clock was hidden. Still steadily sound
| ed the stick, tick" Always at the same
distance, no nearer, no further.
He remembered watch that he had
carried when boy; silver gift watch
given him by his father.
He felt his pocket. Perhaps it was
there now. No, his pocket was empty.
He bent his head over his left shoulder,
listening intently. Then he cried aloud
in delight.
He had found the clock. 1t was there,
| where his heart had once benin his
body, on the left side. How loud it
| licked! He held his coat over it to
| mufle the sound that seemed to pene-
trate the walls. With his nails he dug
into the flesh, striving to tear from it
the precious timepiece.
'Tick, tick"
Heavens How time was passing!
He struck his chest fiercely. With the
movement he stepped backward. AS he
did so his foot struck something. He
| looked down and saw the knife. Then
he was calm. click, tick" went the
clock, but the sound troubled him no
| longer. In moment he would see the
white dial, the black hands moving
slowly and that other hand that twirled
away the seconds. Once again he would
| be master of time, not it's slave.
He stopped and picked up the knife.
It's edge was ragged where he had
forced it into the walls. He moved the
fingers of his right hand carefully along
his side, until he felt that they rested
| directly above the clock.
"Tick, tick"
The point of the knife met the sound
and silenced it.-Chicago Times-Her.