“That’s a tilt,” said the doctor, “that means no—a very emphatic tilt.”
“I think it was a jump,” said my aunt, sadly.
“No, Ma’am, no—a tilt, a tilt, I’ll take my oath. Besides a jump has no meaning,” urged he with energy.
“Pardon me: when a question is received with marked impatience a jump is no unfrequent consequence.”
“Oh, ho!” groaned the doctor reflectively. “Then it counts for nothing.”
“Nothing,” said Miss Perfect in a low tone. “Winnie, get the table up again.”
“Suppose, Ma’am, to avoid mistakes,” said the doctor, after reflection, “suppose we put it upon it to express itself in language. Just ask it what about Miss Dinah Perfect’s death.”
“I’ve no objection,” said Miss Perfect; and in the terms prescribed by Dr. Drake the momentous question was put.
Hereupon the spelling commenced—
“A-D-J-O-U-R-N-E-D.”