‘When I got in, what do you think I saw? My wife was knitting, with her toes on the fender, and my daughters were playing with a little cat they had.
‘“Good gracious, Tom!” said my wife, “we thought you were dining with Mr. Harris. What’s the matter? You look too frightened to tell us. Is it serious?”
‘“Thank God you’re safe,” said I, holding myself against the door-post, and panting for breath, for I had run the last mile or so.
‘“Safe!” they all said, “of course we’re all safe. What’s the matter?”
‘“Oh, Tom, Tom!” said my wife, rushing up and putting her arms round my neck, “don’t keep us in suspense. Is it something dreadful?”
‘“Why, the earthquake,” said I.
‘“Earthquake!” said they, “there hasn’t been an earthquake.”
‘“You’re crazy, Tom,” said my wife.
‘“Why, Harris’s house has been nearly shaken down, and I came to see how you were getting on.”
‘Then they laughed, and told me I had been dreaming. Well, to be called crazy, to be accused of dreaming, and to miss my dinner, set me thinking.