"And its works are like the big ones?"
"Practically, yes. This one, as you see, was made by John Bailey of Hanover, a small town on Cape Cod. Probably its date is about 1812 or 1815."
"It is over a hundred years old already."
"Yes. And considering it is, don't you think, Ebenezer, it has earned the right to a little independence?" McPhearson inquired of the darky, a twinkle in his eye.
But Ebenezer shook his head.
"Mr. Hawley done say no clock can go strikin' by herself—no matter how old she is," Ebenezer asserted, without hint of a smile. "He say there's no excuse for it—no excuse!"
McPhearson opened the door and glanced inside.
"Can you see anything wrong, sir?" queried the old butler eagerly.
"Not yet. I've got to make a more thorough examination."
"Likely you have. But whatever's the matter, you'll find it—I know that. I never see such a man for clocks as you in all my born days; an' the master, he say the same. 'Mr. McPhearson will soon get Seventeen into line,' he says, an' I know you will, sir. Don't you always?"