Julia and Anna sprang to their feet.
“All well!” cried a voice from the street. It was the watchman, first ringing down his club on the pavement, and then following it up with this highly satisfactory verbal announcement.
“All well! Do you hear that, my girls?” said I, gayly.
Indeed it was astonishing how brave as Bruce I felt in company with three women, and two of them half frightened out of their wits.
I rose for my pipe, and took a philosophic smoke.
Democritus forever, thought I.
In profound silence, I sat smoking, when lo!—pop! pop! pop!—right under the table, a terrible popping.
This time we all four sprang up, and my pipe was broken.
“Good heavens! what’s that?”
“Spirits! spirits!” cried Julia.