“Pshaw!” said my wife.
“Do you hear any more ticking?” said I.
They all applied their ears, but heard nothing.
“Well, then, wife and daughters, now that it is all over, this very morning I will go and make inquiries about it.”
“Oh, do, papa,” cried Julia, “do go and consult Madame Pazzi, the conjuress.”
“Better go and consult Professor Johnson, the naturalist,” said my wife.
“Bravo, Mrs. Democritus!” said I. “Professor Johnson is the man.”
By good fortune I found the professor in. Informing him briefly of the incident, he manifested a cool, collected sort of interest, and gravely accompanied me home. The table was produced, the two openings pointed out, the bug displayed, and the details of the affair set forth; my wife and daughters being present.
“And now, Professor,” said I, “what do you think of it?”
Putting on his spectacles, the learned professor looked hard at the table, and gently scraped with his penknife into the holes, but said nothing.