MY NIGHTMARE.
I did not sleep that night for many hours, and when I finally slumbered there came to me a nightmare, involving grandpapa, which took ten years off my life.
I dreamed that the morning had come, and that I went into grandfather's room to wish him many happy returns of the day--a thing I should certainly not have done in reality. But I was in the spirit, and never shall I forget the spectacle which greeted me as I stood by the old man's pillow. Instead of the ruddy, healthy boy I had left over-night--instead of the muscular, deep-chested, deep-voiced young athlete who was that day to row at Henley, there sat up in the bed an uncanny, wrinkled, decrepit mummy of a creature. It was bald, save for a thin tangle of white eyebrow over each bleared eye. Its mouth was a mere slit, its nose and chin nearly met, its cheeks had fallen in. One thin skeleton of a claw held the bedclothes up to its scraggy neck. Its head shook, its under jaw dropped, its back was round as a wheel; the thing manifested indications of profoundest age.
"What--what is this? Who are you?" I gasped, turning faint and clutching at a chair-back for support.
It laughed a little squeaky, wheezy laugh, and a cunning expression came into its dim eyes.
"Keep your nerve," it said. "The show's bust up; the New Scheme's broken down!"
"Grandpapa!"
"He--he--he! Yes. A hundred and eight, not twenty. I've downed him."
"Downed him, grandpapa?"
"That means bested him, beaten him, scored off him. Lord! Lord! You'd have laughed to see what went on here last night. Nick swore and cussed and stormed and stamped round and perspired brimstone; but it wasn't any manner of use. He'd given himself away by his own foolishness."