I will admit that my experience with burglars is somewhat limited, but I had never heard of one who stopped to play the piano before starting to burgle. Only a very desperate character would be likely to do that. There have been numerous cases where a deaf man has been shot down when approaching a house at night. He may have come on the most innocent errand, but as he could not hear the command, “Speak or I’ll fire!” he kept steadily on and was shot. I remembered these incidents, but could not recall any instance where the deaf man was supposed to give the order. But I had been telling my children great stories of life on the plains, and the only way for me to remain a hero was to tackle the intruder. I took my big stick and started down, while my wife brought a lamp and held it at the top of the stairs. I presume she was handing out some very sensible advice as I descended—but I could not hear it.
Now, what would you do and what would you say if you were roused at night, led by your family into a conflict, only to find an old and trusted friend robbing the henroost? I probably felt all your emotions when I caught sight of that robber. The piano had been left open, and there, walking up and down the keyboard impartially on black and white was my old friend Lump—the deaf cat. He was taking advantage of a night in the house to go on a voyage of exploration. His jump on to the piano led to my disgrace. The “robber” was quickly flung into outer darkness by an indignant woman, and probably I escaped a plain recital of my shortcomings only by lack of hearing. Do you know, while I would congratulate the husband on his escape, I always feel sorry for the lady, who would be well justified in giving her man a full lecture, and yet knows that he would not hear it. However, I feel that some innocent member of the family may receive the impact of these remarks. At any rate, before we were settled the baby woke up. It certainly was one of those rare occasions when the deaf man appreciates his advantages enthusiastically.
But why did Lump, in spite of his usual good sense, decide to try the piano at midnight? Of course, he did not know he was making a noise; but why mount the piano? I puzzled over this, and the wise old cat looked at me pityingly; but I could not understand. Every time he could slip into the house he went straight to the piano for a promenade up and down the keys. I began to think that we had developed a wonderful “musical cat.”
Some time later the piano seemed to need tuning, and a tuner came to take the muffle and twang out of its strings. When he opened up the front, the mystery of the musical cat was revealed. Just behind the keys, inside, was the nest of a mouse; she had carried in a handful of soft material—and in it were half a dozen baby mice. Lump had not been attempting “Home, Sweet Home”; his thought had been more nearly along the line of “Thou Art So Near, and Yet So Far.” He had no ear for music, but he had a nose for mice, and he had demonstrated his knowledge of the habits of mice. I, too, have found it wiser to judge people by their habits rather than by their music, for there are many who would be willing to play “Home, Sweet Home” while in reality they are after the mice.
CHAPTER IX
The Approach to Silence
The Approach of Deafness—The College Woman—Student Methods in General—Calamity and Courage—Animals and Thought Communication—Another Compensation—Pronunciation and the Defensive Campaign.
Some years ago we planted a hedge at the end of my lawn. For years I could sit at the dining-table and look over it. At night I saw my neighbor’s window-light, and by day I could see him or some of his family moving about the house or the fields. As the years went on I became aware that the hedge was growing. Finally there came a Spring when the bushes were filled out with foliage so that all view of the neighbor’s house was lost. I could not see the light at night. While I knew the people were moving about during the daytime, I could not see them. The hedge had shut me away from them, yet it had grown so slowly and so gently that there was no shock. Had my neighbor shut himself suddenly away from view by building a spite fence, the loss would have been far greater. This instance somewhat resembles the difference between sudden loss of hearing and its slow fading away.
I know of the curious case of a woman who could not be made to realize that her hearing was going until the common tests of everyday life convinced her that she was going deaf. What are these common tests? The usual ones are inability to hear the clocks and the birds. Very likely you have been in the habit of listening to the clock at night when for some reason sleep was impossible. It has been a comfort to you to think how this constant old friend goes calmly on through sun or storm, through joy or sorrow, gathering up the dust of the seconds into the grains of the minutes, and forming them into bricks of the hours and days. Or you may have been alone in the house on a Winter’s night. You heard the house timbers crack, and gentle fingers seemed to be tapping on the window pane. Then there came a night when you lay awake and missed the sound of your old friend, who seemed to have stopped checking off the marching hours. Many a deaf person waking in the night, missing the sound of the clock, has risen from bed and brought a light to start the old timepiece going. Not one of you can realize what it means when the light falls upon the face of the clock, revealing the minute hand still cheerfully circling its appointed course. The clock is still going, but something else has stopped.