“What’s the matter?” I gasped, springing out of bed, but only to reel and stagger about before falling heavily.
“That’s just how it served me,” said Tom. “Kneel down, Mas’r Harry, same as I do. The house is as drunk as a fiddler, and the floor’s going just like the deck of a ship.”
“Where are you?” I cried, trying to collect my scattered faculties, for, awakened so suddenly from a deep sleep, I was terribly confused.
“Oh, I’m here!” said Tom. “Give’s your hand. But, I say, Mas’r Harry, what’s it mean? Do all the houses get dancing like this here every night, because, if so, I’ll sleep in the fields. There it goes again! Soap and soda! what a row!”
Tom might well exclaim, for with the house rocking frightfully, now came from outside the peal as of a thousand thunders, accompanied by the clang of bell, the crash of falling walls, the sharp cracking and splitting of woodwork, and the yelling and shrieking of people running to and fro.
“So this ere’s a native storm, Mas’r Harry?” shouted Tom to me during a pause.
“No!” I shouted in answer, as with a shiver of dread I worded the fearful suspicion that had flashed across my brain. “No, Tom, it’s an earthquake!”
“Is that all?” grumbled Tom. “Well, it might have come in the daytime, and not when folks were tired. But I thought earthquakes swallowed you up.”
“Here, for Heaven’s sake help me at this door, Tom!” I shouted, “or we shall be crushed to death. Here, push—hard!”
But our efforts were vain, for just then came another shock, and one side of the room split open from floor to ceiling.