The Man Who Knew Too Much
selves may be quite strange to you. Something else may be standing now where you saw a table or a chair. The face of your friend may be quite different in the dark."
A short, indescribable noise broke the stillness. Twyford started for a second, and then said, sharply:
"Really, I don't think it's a suitable occasion for trying to frighten a child."
"Who's a child?" cried the indignant Summers, with a voice that had a crow, but also something of a crack in it. "And who's a funk, either? Not me."
"I will be silent, then," said the other voice out of the darkness. "But silence also makes and unmakes."
The required silence remained unbroken for a long time until at last the clergyman said to Symon in a low voice:
"I suppose it's all right about air?"
"Oh, yes," replied the other aloud; "there's a fireplace and a chimney in the office just by the door."
A bound and the noise of a falling chair told them that the irrepressible rising generation had once more thrown itself across the room. They heard the ejaculation: "A chimney! Why, I'll be" and the rest was lost in muffled, but exultant, cries.
The uncle called repeatedly and vainly, groped
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