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〃‘Why doesn't he strike us dead？' asked the undergraduate abstractedly；
plunging his hands into his pockets。
〃‘He is dead himself；' said the philosopher； ‘that is where
he is really enviable。'
〃‘To any one who thinks；' proceeded Eames； ‘the pleasures of life；
trivial and soon tasteless； and bribes to bring us into a torture chamber。
We all see that for any thinking man mere extinction is the。。。 What
are you doing？。。。 Are you mad？。。。 Put that thing down。'
〃Dr。 Eames had turned his tired but still talkative head over his shoulder；
and had found himself looking into a small round black hole； rimmed by a
six…sided circlet of steel； with a sort of spike standing up on the top。
It fixed him like an iron eye。 Through those eternal instants during
which the reason is stunned he did not even know what it was。
Then he saw behind it the chambered barrel and cocked hammer of
a revolver； and behind that the flushed and rather heavy face of Smith；
apparently quite unchanged； or even more mild than before。
〃‘I'll help you out of your hole； old man；' said Smith；
with rough tenderness。 ‘I'll put the puppy out of his pain。'
〃Emerson Eames retreated towards the window。 ‘Do you mean
to kill me？' he cried。
〃‘It's not a thing I'd do for every one；' said Smith with emotion；
‘but you and I seem to have got so intimate to…night； somehow。
I know all your troubles now； and the only cure； old chap。'
〃‘Put that thing down；' shouted the Warden。
〃‘It'll soon be over； you know；' said Smith with the air of a
sympathetic dentist。 And as the Warden made a run for the window
and balcony； his benefactor followed him with a firm step
and a compassionate expression。
〃Both men were perhaps surprised to see that the gray and white
of early daybreak had already come。 One of them； however；
had emotions calculated to swallow up surprise。 Brakespeare College
was one of the few that retained real traces of Gothic ornament；
and just beneath Dr。 Eames's balcony there ran out what had perhaps
been a flying buttress； still shapelessly shaped into gray beasts
and devils； but blinded with mosses and washed out with rains。
With an ungainly and most courageous leap； Eames sprang out on this
antique bridge； as the only possible mode of escape from the maniac。
He sat astride of it； still in his academic gown； dangling his
long thin legs； and considering further chances of flight。
The whitening daylight opened under as well as over him that
impression of vertical infinity already remarked about the little
lakes round Brakespeare。 Looking down and seeing the spires
and chimneys pendent in the pools； they felt alone in space。
They felt as if they were looking over the edge from the North Pole
and seeing the South Pole below。
〃‘Hang the world； we said；' observed Smith； ‘and the world is hanged。
〃He has hanged the world upon nothing；〃 says the Bible。 Do you like being
hanged upon nothing？ I'm going to be hanged upon something myself。
I'm going to swing for you。。。 Dear； tender old phrase；' he murmured；
‘never true till this moment。 I am going to swing for you。
For you； dear friend。 For your sake。 At your express desire。'
〃‘Help！' cried the Warden of Brakespeare College； ‘help！'
〃‘The puppy struggles；' said the undergraduate； with an eye of pity；
‘the poor puppy struggles。 How fortunate it is that I am wiser
and kinder than he；' and he sighted his weapon so as exactly to cover
the upper part of Eames's bald head。
〃‘Smith；' said the philosopher with a sudden change to a sort
of ghastly lucidity； ‘I shall go mad。'
〃‘And so look at things from the right angle；' observed Smith；
sighing gently。 ‘Ah； but madness is only a palliative at best；
a drug。 The only cure is an operationan operation that is
always successful： death。'
〃As he spoke the sun rose。 It seemed to put colour into everything；
with the rapidity of a lightning artist。 A fleet of little
clouds sailing across the sky changed from pigeon…gray to pink。
All over the little academic town the tops of different buildings
took on different tints： here the sun would pick out the green
enameled on a pinnacle； there the scarlet tiles of a villa；
here the copper ornament on some artistic shop； and there
the sea…blue slates of some old and steep church roof。
All these coloured crests seemed to have something oddly
individual and significant about them； like crests of famous
knights pointed out in a pageant or a battlefield： they each
arrested the eye； especially the rolling eye of Emerson Eames
as he looked round on the morning and accepted it as his last。
Through a narrow chink between a black timber tavern and a big
gray college he could see a clock with gilt hands which the
sunshine set on fire。 He stared at it as though hypnotized；
and suddenly the clock began to strike； as if in personal reply。
As if at a signal； clock after clock took up the cry：
all the churches awoke like chickens at cockcrow。
The birds were already noisy in the trees behind the college。
The sun rose； gathering glory that seemed too full for the deep
skies to hold； and the shallow waters beneath them seemed golden
and brimming and deep enough for the thirst of the gods。
Just round the corner of the College； and visible from his crazy perch；
were the brightest specks on that bright landscape； the villa
with the spotted blinds which he had made his text that night。
He wondered for the first time what people lived in them。
〃Suddenly he called out with mere querulous authority；
as he might have called to a student to shut a door。
〃‘Let me come off this place；' he cried； ‘I can't bear it。'
〃‘I rather doubt if it will bear you；' said Smith critically；
‘but before you break your neck； or I blow out your brains；
or let you back into this room （on which complex points I
am undecided） I want the metaphysical point cleared up。
Do I understand that you want to get back to life？'
〃‘I'd give anything to get back；' replied the unhappy professor。
〃‘Give anything！' cried Smith； ‘then； blast your impudence；
give us a song！'
〃‘What song do you mean？' demanded the exasperated Eames； ‘what song？'
〃‘A hymn； I think； would be most appropriate；' answered the other gravely。
‘I'll let you off if you'll repeat after me the words
〃‘I thank the goodness and the grace
That on my birth have smiled。
And perched me on this curious place；
A happy English child。'
〃Dr。 Emerson Eames having briefly complied； his persecutor abruptly
told him to hold his hands up in the air。 Vaguely connecting this
proceeding with the usual conduct of brigands and bushrangers；
Mr。 Eames held them up； very stiffly； but without marked surprise。
A bird alighting on his stone seat took no more notice of him
than of a comic statue。
〃‘You are now engaged in public worship；' remarked Smith severely；
‘and before I have done with you； you shall thank God for the very ducks
on the pond。'
〃‘The celebrated pessimist half articulately expressed his perfect
readiness to thank God for the ducks on the pond。
〃‘Not forgetting the drakes；' said Smith sternly。
（Eames weakly conceded the drakes。） ‘Not forgetting