The unknown quantity : a book of romance and some half-told tales . thmatic, unless Ihave air. Break the window-pane! So the Mystic felt for the footstool, over whichhe had just stubbed his toes, and used the cornerof it to smash the glass. Ah, said the Asthmatic, with a long sigh of re-lief, I am better. There is nothing like fresh air.* Then they all went to sleep again. The morning roused them slowly, and they layon their backs looking around the room. The win-dows were closed and the shades drawn. But the glass door of the bookcase had a greathole in it! You see! said the Mystic. It was th
The unknown quantity : a book of romance and some half-told tales . thmatic, unless Ihave air. Break the window-pane! So the Mystic felt for the footstool, over whichhe had just stubbed his toes, and used the cornerof it to smash the glass. Ah, said the Asthmatic, with a long sigh of re-lief, I am better. There is nothing like fresh air.* Then they all went to sleep again. The morning roused them slowly, and they layon their backs looking around the room. The win-dows were closed and the shades drawn. But the glass door of the bookcase had a greathole in it! You see! said the Mystic. It was the faithcure. The Oversoul cured you. Not at all, said the Sceptic. It was the doubtcure. The way to get rid of a thing is to doubtit. I think, said the Asthmatic, that it was thenightmare, and that miscellaneous cooking is thecause of human misery. We have travelled enough, 162 A CHANGE OF AIR and yet we have found no better air than we left athome. So they went back to the certain village and con-tinued their disputations very happily for the restof their THE NIGHT CALL THE NIGHT CALL The first caprice of November snow had sketchedthe world in white for an hour in the morning. Aftermid-day, the sun came out, the wind turned warm,and the whiteness vanished from the landscape. Byevening, the low ridges and the long plain of NewJersey were rich and sad again, in russet and dullcrimson and old gold; for the foliage still clung to theoaks and elms and birches, and the dying monarchyof autumn retreated slowly before winters cold re-public. In the old town of Calvinton, stretched along thehighroad, the lamps were lit early as the saffron sun-set faded into humid night. A mist rose from thelong, wet street and the sodden lawns, muffling thehouses and the trees and the college towers with adouble veil, under which a pallid aureole encircledevery light, while the moon above, languid and tear-ful, waded slowly through the mounting fog. It was 167 THE NIGHT CALL a night of delay a
Size: 2187px × 1143px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade, booksubjectbookbinding, bookyear1912
