The Winslow mail., 1899-06-22

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 10
everything but his task. The walls or
his room were defaced with knife cuts;
there remained only an iEch CT 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 brilliant idea occurred to
him. He gathered up the rugs, rolled
them together and tossed them out of
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 madman wept tears
Of despair. He sat for some time
crouched beneath window, then
slow smile diffused itself over his face.
He tore away his sleeve, and, barring his
arm, pricked his skin with the point of
the knife. lie counted aloud as he did
so, while the blood tricllled from the
wound. Then the Eaadman 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 tick, tick" Always at the same
distance, no nearer, no further.
lie remembered watch that he had
carried when boy; silver gift watch
given him by his father.
lie felt his pocket. Perhaps it was
there now. No, his pocket was empty.
lie bent his head over his left shoulder,
listening intently. Then he cried aloud
in delight.
lie had found the clock. 1t was there,
where his heart had once benin his
body, on the left side. How loud it
tickedl He held his coat over it to
muffle 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 fercely. 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. "Tick, tick" went the
clock, but the sound troubled him no
longer. In a 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 its slave.
lie 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
aid.