“Hello, what is it?” said her husband's voice. “Now why couldn't he have come a minute sooner,” thought Mary, provoked.
“Doctor,” said an agitated voice, “my little boy has swallowed a penny.”
“Was it a good one?” inquired the doctor, calmly.
“Why—ye-es,” said the voice, broken with a laugh, “guess it was.”
“Just let him alone. It will be all right after awhile.”
“It was worth getting down to hear so comforting an assurance,” said Mary as she ascended again the chair and the volumes. She finished her weekly task, then slowly and cautiously descended, carried the big books back to their places, set the chair in its corner and lighted the gas. She stood for a moment looking up at this clock. The space over the mantel-piece was just the place for it and it was only after it had been firmly anchored to the wall that the thought had arisen, “How can I ever get up there to wind it?”
She smiled as she thought of a social gathering a few days before, when a lady had called to her across the room, “Mrs. Blank, tell us that clock story again.” And she had answered:
“It isn't much of a story, but it serves to show the manner in which we computed the time. One night the doctor woke me up. ‘Mary,’ he said in a helpless sort of way, ‘It struck seven—what time is it?’ ‘Well—let me see,’ I said. ‘If it struck seven it meant to strike three, for it strikes four ahead of time. And if it meant to strike three it's just a quarter past two, for it's three quarters of an hour too fast.’” Ting-a-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling.
Mary recognized her husband's ring. “Yes, what is it John?”
“I'm going out for twenty minutes, watch the 'phone, please.”