I went down with them， and wedged securely across thesecond landing of the staircase， I found a box which I shouldhave judged to be the original case in which Cleopatra’sNeedle came over.
They said that was my clock.
I brought down a chopper and a crowbar， and we sent outand collected in two extra hired ruffians and the five of usworked away for half an hour and got the clock out； afterwhich the traffic up and down the staircase was resumed， muchto the satisfaction of the other tenants.
We then got the clock upstairs and put it together， and I fixedit in the corner of the dining-room.
At first it exhibited a strong desire to topple over and fall onpeople， but by the liberal use of nails and screws and bits offirewood， I made life in the same room with it possible， andthen， being exhausted， I had my wounds dressed， and went tobed.
In the middle of the night my wife woke me up in a state ofgreat alarm， to say that the clock had just struck thirteen， andwho did I think was going to die？
I said I did not know， but hoped it might be the next-doordog.
My wife said she had a presentiment it meant baby. Therewas no comforting her； she cried herself to sleep again.
During the course of the morning， I succeeded in persuadingher that she must have made a mistake， and she consented tosmile once more. In the afternoon the clock struck thirteenagain.
This renewed all her fears. She was convinced now that bothbaby and I were doomed， and that she would be left a childlesswidow. I tried to treat the matter as a joke， and this only madeher more wretched. She said that she could see I really felt asshe did， and was only pretending to be light-hearted for hersake， and she said she would try and bear it bravely.
The person she chiefly blamed was Buggles.
In the night the clock gave us another warning， and my wifeaccepted it for her Aunt Maria， and seemed resigned. Shewished， however， that I had never had the clock， and wonderedwhen， if ever， I should get cured of my absurd craze for fillingthe house with tomfoolery.
The next day the clock struck thirteen four times and thischeered her up. She said that if we were all going to die， it didnot so much matter. Most likely there was a fever or a plaguecoming， and we should all be taken together.
She was quite light-hearted over it！
After that the clock went on and killed every friend andrelation we had， and then it started on the neighbors.
It struck thirteen all day long for months， until we were sickof slaughter， and there could not have been a human being leftalive for miles around.
Then it turned over a new leaf， and gave up murdering folks，and took to striking mere harmless thirty-nines and fortyones.
Its favorite number now is thirty-two， but once a day itstrikes forty-nine. It never strikes more than forty-nine. I don’tknow why—I have never been able to understand why—but itdoesn’t.
It does not strike at regular intervals， but when it feels itwants to and would be better for it. Sometimes it strikes threeor four times within the same hour， and at other times it willgo for half-a-day without striking at all.
He is an odd fellow！
I have thought now and then of having him “seen to，” andmade to keep regular hours and be respectable； but， somehow，I seem to have grown to love him as he is with his daringmockery of Time.
He certainly has not much respect for it. He seems to go outof his way almost to openly insult it. He calls half-past twothirty-eight o’clock， and in twenty minutes from then he says itis one！
Is it that he really has grown to feel contempt for his master，and wishes to show it？ They say no man is a hero to his valet；may it be that even stony-face Time himself is but a short-lived， puny mortal—a little greater than some others， that isall—to the dim eyes of this old servant of his？ Has he， ticking，ticking， all these years， come at last to see into the littleness ofthat Time that looms so great to our awed human eyes？
Is he saying， as he grimly laughs， and strikes his thirty-fivesand forties： “Bah！ I know you， Time， godlike and dread thoughyou seem. What are you but a phantom—a dream—like therest of us here？ Ay， less， for you will pass away and be nomore. Fear him not， immortal men. Time is but the shadow ofthe world upon the background of Eternity！”
