“Mortimer, I think your middle ought to be protected. Won’t you buckle on your militia sabre, please?”
I complied.
“Now, Mortimer, you ought to have some way to protect your feet. Do please put on your spurs.”
I did it,—in silence,—and kept my temper as well as I could.
“Mortimer, it says, ‘Das Gewitter läuten ist sehr gefährlich, weil die Glocke selbst, sowie der durch das Läuten veranlasste Luftzug und die Höhe des Thurmes den Blitz anziehen könnten.’ Mortimer, does that mean that it is dangerous not to ring the church bells during a thunder-storm?”
“Yes, it seems to mean that,—if that is the past participle of the nominative case singular, and I reckon it is. Yes, I think it means that on account of the height of the church tower and the absence of Luftzug it would be very dangerous (sehr gefährlich) not to ring the bells in time of a storm; and moreover, don’t you see, the very wording—”
“Never mind that, Mortimer; don’t waste the precious time in talk. Get the large dinner-bell; it is right there in the hall. Quick, Mortimer dear; we are almost safe. Oh, dear, I do believe we are going to be saved, at last!”
Our little summer establishment stands on top of a high range of hills, overlooking a valley. Several farm-houses are in our neighborhood,—the nearest some three or four hundred yards away.
When I, mounted on the chair, had been clanging that dreadful bell a matter of seven or eight minutes, our shutters were suddenly torn open from without, and a brilliant bull’s-eye lantern was thrust in at the window, followed by a hoarse inquiry:—
“What in the nation is the matter here?”