When I finished, she shook her head slowly, as if quite dumfounded, and altered her position, leaning against the back of the bench and gazing straight before her without speaking. It was plain that her neighbor's extraordinary behavior had revealed a phase of his character novel enough to be startling.
“One explanation might be just barely possible,” I said. “If it is, it is the most remarkable case of somnambulism on record. Did you ever hear of Mr. Beasley's walking in his—”
She touched me lightly but peremptorily on the arm in warning, and I stopped. On the other side of the board fence a door opened creakily, and there sounded a loud and cheerful voice—that of the gentleman in the dressing-gown.
“HERE we come!” it said; “me and big Bill Hammersley. I want to show Bill I can jump ANYWAYS three times as far as he can! Come on, Bill.”
“Is that Mr. Beasley's voice?” I asked, under my breath.
Miss Apperthwaite nodded in affirmation.
“Could he have heard me?”
“No,” she whispered. “He's just come out of the house.” And then to herself, “Who under heaven is Bill Hammersley? I never heard of HIM!”
“Of course, Bill,” said the voice beyond the fence, “if you're afraid I'll beat you TOO badly, you've still got time to back out. I did understand you to kind of hint that you were considerable of a jumper, but if—What? What'd you say, Bill?” There ensued a moment's complete silence. “Oh, all right,” the voice then continued. “You say you're in this to win, do you? Well, so'm I, Bill Hammersley; so'm I. Who'll go first? Me? All right—from the edge of the walk here. Now then! One—two—three! HA!”
A sound came to our ears of some one landing heavily—and at full length, it seemed—on the turf, followed by a slight, rusty groan in the same voice. “Ugh! Don't you laugh, Bill Hammersley! I haven't jumped as much as I OUGHT to, these last twenty years; I reckon I've kind of lost the hang of it. Aha!” There were indications that Mr. Beasley was picking himself up, and brushing his trousers with his hands. “Now, it's your turn, Bill. What say?” Silence again, followed by, “Yes, I'll make Simpledoria get out of the way. Come here, Simpledoria. Now, Bill, put your heels together on the edge of the walk. That's right. All ready? Now then! One for the money—two for the show—three to make ready—and four for to GO!” Another silence. “By jingo, Bill Hammersley, you've beat me! Ha, ha! That WAS a jump! What say?” Silence once more. “You say you can do even better than that? Now, Bill, don't brag. Oh! you say you've often jumped farther? Oh! you say that was up in Scotland, where you had a spring-board? Oho! All right; let's see how far you can jump when you really try. There! Heels on the walk again. That's right; swing your arms. One—two—three! THERE you go!” Another silence. “ZING! Well, sir, I'll be e-tarnally snitched to flinders if you didn't do it THAT time, Bill Hammersley! I see I never really saw any jumping before in all my born days. It's eleven feet if it's an inch. What? You say you—”