The silver messenger. (Challis, Idaho) 1890-1912, 1900-02-13

at his calculation, he completed ten of
these revolutions minute.
Upon one occasion the professor
called upon him. and Warren shouted:
Thief theft give me back my
watchl"
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 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 mailman wept tears
of despair. He sat for some time
crouched beneath window, then a
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
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 a clock. He paused twice
to listen. Yes, he was not mad; no one
could mistake the steady tick, tick"
A clockl He sprang to his feet, the
knife gathering upon the floor. A
| clocki 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.
He remembered a 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. It was there
where his heart had once benin his
body, on the left side. How loud i
tickedl He held his coat over it Il
muffie the sound that seemed to pene
trate the walls. With his nails he dug
into the flesh. striving to tear from il
the precious timepiece.
Tick, tick"
Heavens! How time was passing
He struck his chest fiercely. With tn,
movement he stepped backward. AS h,
did so his foot struck something. H,
looked down and saw the knife. Their
be was calm. Tick, tick" went tn,
clock, but the sound troubled him NJ
longer. In a moment he would see tn,
white dial, the black hands moving
slowly and that other hand that twirleC
away the seconds. Once again he would
be master of time, not its slave.
He stopped and picked up the knife
Its edge was ragged where he haC
forced it into the walls. He moved tn,
fingers of his right hand carefully alona
his side, until he felt that they resteC
directly above the clock.
Tick, tick"
The point Of the knife met the SOUND
and silenced it.-Chicago Times-Her
aid.