The Girl on the Boat - Penn State University

CHAPTER XI
Mr. Bennett Has a Bad Night
THE FRAGMENT of a lobster-shell which had entered Mr.
Bennett’s tongue at twenty minutes to two in the afternoon
was still in occupation at half-past eleven that
night, when that persecuted gentleman blew out his
candle and endeavoured to compose himself for a
night’s slumber. Its unconscious host had not yet been
made aware of its presence. He had a vague feeling
that the tip of his tongue felt a little sore, but his mind
was too engrossed with the task of keeping a look-out
for the preliminary symptoms of mumps to have leisure
to bestow much attention on this phenomenon.
<strong>The</strong> discomfort it caused was not sufficient to keep him
awake, and presently he turned on his side and began
to fill the room with a rhythmical snoring.
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How pleasant if one could leave him so—the good
man taking his rest. Facts, however, are facts; and, having
crept softly from Mr. Bennett’s side with the feeling
that at last everything is all right with him, we are
compelled to return three hours later to discover that
everything is all wrong. It is so dark in the room that
our eyes can at first discern nothing; then, as we grow
accustomed to the blackness, we perceive him sitting
bolt upright in bed, staring glassily before him, while
with the first finger of his right hand he touches apprehensively
the tip of his protruding tongue.
At this point Mr. Bennett lights his candle—one of the
charms of Windles was the old-world simplicity of its lighting
system—and we are enabled to get a better view of him.
Mr. Bennett sat in the candlelight with his tongue out
and the first beads of a chilly perspiration bedewing
his forehead. It was impossible for a man of his complexion
to turn pale, but he had turned as pale as he
could. Panic gripped him. A man whose favourite reading
was medical encyclopædias, he needed no doctor
to tell him that this was the end. Fate had dealt him a