The interest my companion exhibited
in the narration might have surprised me had my nocturnal experience
itself been less surprising. She interrupted me now and then with
little, half-checked ejaculations of acute wonder, but sat for the most
part with her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand, her face
turned eagerly to mine and her lips parted in half-breathless attention.
There was nothing "far away" about her eyes now; they were widely and
intently alert.
When I finished, she shook her head slowly, as if quite dumfounded, and
altered her position, leaning against the back of the bench and gazing
straight before her without speaking. It was plain that her neighbor's
extraordinary behavior had revealed a phase of his character novel
enough to be startling.
"One explanation might be just barely possible," I said. "If it is, it
is the most remarkable case of somnambulism on record. Did you ever hear
of Mr. Beasley's walking in his--"
She touched me lightly but peremptorily on the arm in warning, and I
stopped. On the other side of the board fence a door opened creakily,
and there sounded a loud and cheerful voice--that of the gentleman in
the dressing-gown.
"HERE we come!" it said; "me and big Bill Hammersley. I want to show
Bill I can jump ANYWAYS three times as far as he can! Come on, Bill."
"Is that Mr. Beasley's voice?" I asked, under my breath.
Miss Apperthwaite nodded in affirmation.
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