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I tried one or two and found that I was right, although for some reason I was unable to open one to its fullest extent. The handles were sticky, as if some one had opened them with dirty fingers. Knowing Hemlock's fastidious cleanliness, I resolved to inform him of this circumstance, but I forgot it, alas! until but I am anticipating my story. His absence was strangely prolonged.
Oft did he stoop a listening ear, Sweep round an anxious eye, No bark or ax-blow could he hear, No human trace descry. His sinuous path, by blazes, wound Among trunks grouped in myriads round; Through naked boughs, between Whose tangled architecture fraught With many a shape grotesquely wrought, The hemlock's spire was seen. By this time, daylight was at hand.
Never was the pool without its giant occupant, for when one big fellow was caught another moved in to take his place, the run being fully stocked from year to year by the smaller fishes from the spring brooks, like the vanished rivulet above. But now no trout hid under the hemlock's roots. They stood high and dry, while the puny stream that trickled beneath them would hardly have covered a minnow.
Now when we were chasing that Russian hash-mixer or biscuit-shooter out of the kitchen door closely pursued by Louis with the butcher-knife, your old Uncle Hemlock's intuition told him that there was another one of the guilty wretches who had cabbaged the cuff-buttons!
Twice again, while another pistol-shot rang out, we plied the ram, and then followed it pell-mell across the threshold, where we went down in a heap amid the wreckage of the door, though I had sense enough left to remove Hemlock's smoking revolver which lay close by, just where he had dropped it on the floor. He evidently had not expected this kind of attack and suffered for his ignorance.
"Do you mean to tell me," he demanded of Harvey, "that seventeen only ran ten thousand? Why, it's preposterous! Saw it myself. It has a half-million on it, if there's a stick. Let's see Parsons's letter." While Harvey was gone, Fox read further in the copy. "See here, Harvey," he cried, "something's dead wrong. We never cut all this hemlock. Why, hemlock's 'way down."
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