“Mine is almost word for word the same,” cried my friend; while, with trifling exceptions, the narratives of the other watchers tallied.
Rather pale and uncomfortable, the party now eat talking in whispers, starting at every loud gust of wind or loud pat of snow upon the window, while the rattling of casement or door was enough to send a shiver through the stoutest man present. But as the night wore on and nothing more alarming was heard, first one and then another dropped off to sleep, though the majority sat watching till the cold grey light of the winter’s morning dawned; and then, after another glance at the dining-room, now looking more weird than ever as seen by the light streaming through the round, eye-like holes in the window shutters, the party gladly left the house, and doubtless made the best of their way to bed.
Now, I make no defence of this story, for I have placed it upon paper in much the same form that it was told to me. What the noise was that the convivial watchers heard I cannot say, but though I consider my informant worthy of credence, and though it was singular that the impression made on all was the same, yet I cannot help thinking that the best thing to imbibe while sitting up o’ night is tea.
Chapter Twenty Six.
Caught in his own Trap.
Fancy being almost born a DD, like unto Mr Dagon Dodd, a gentleman who resided, when in what he called his prime, at Number Nine, Inkermann Villas, Balaclava-road, Russiaville—who resided there for the simple reason that he paid his rent and rates with the same punctuality that he did his Income Tax, or it is within the range of probability that Number Nine would soon have possessed another tenant.
Now, although Mr Dagon Dodd had a great right to the letters DD, since they formed his initials; yet he was in no wise related to a celebrated doctor of the same name. Mr Dodd was a bachelor—rather a bald bachelor, with a great deal of very smooth white crown, surrounded by a neat little stubbly fence of very black bristly hair. You never caught Mr DD with his hair brushed in greasy streaks across his head, for the simple reason that his was hair that would not brush, nor yet comb; it grew in a particular way, and stuck to that way most obstinately, besides which what hair existed was so much like a brush itself, that when the well-known toilet appendage came into contact with Mr DD’s head there was such violent antagonism that electricity was evolved, and my only wonder is that Mr DD had not brought the powerful current into use in some way.
Mr Dodd was in person slightly stout, slightly asthmatical, and decidedly short; and though a single person, report said that it was not the fault of the gentleman, for he had once proposed to a lady and been rejected. At all events, Mr Dodd was a single gentleman in the popular acceptation of the term, but decidedly not so in appearance, for in addition to his person, which might have been called after the contents of certain brewers’ barrels, “Double Stout,” he wore double-breasted coats and waistcoats, double-soled shoes, with large black ferret strings, tied in bows, even in snowy weather, while his double chin and double show of importance made the little gentleman do very great credit to Number Nine, Inkermann Villas.