Cobwebs from an Empty Skull eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 156 pages of information about Cobwebs from an Empty Skull.

During all this discussion Dennison, albeit he had evinced from the first a singular interest in the theme, and shirked not his fair share of the conversation, never once seemed to understand that it had any reference to himself.  His frank truthful nature was quite unable to detect the personal significance of the subject.  It was plain that nothing short of a definite inquiry would elicit the information we were dying to obtain; and at a “caucus,” one evening, we drew lots to determine who should openly propound it.  The choice fell upon me.

Next morning we were at the bank somewhat earlier than usual, waiting impatiently for Dennison and the time to open the doors:  they always arrived together.  When Dennison stepped into the room, bowing in his engaging manner to each clerk as he passed to his own desk, I confronted him, shaking him warmly by the hand.  At that moment all the others fell to writing and figuring with unusual avidity, as if thinking of anything under the sun except Dennison’s wife’s head.

“Oh, Dennison,” I began, as carelessly as I could manage it; “speaking of decapitation reminds me of something I would like to ask you.  I have intended asking it several times, but it has always slipped my memory.  Of course you will pardon me if it is not a fair question.”

As if by magic, the scratching of pens died away, leaving a dead silence which quite disconcerted me; but I blundered on: 

“I heard the other day—­that is, you said—­or it was in the newspapers—–­ or somewhere—­something about your poor wife, you understand—­about her losing her head.  Would you mind telling me how such a distressing accident—­if it was an accident—­occurred?”

When I had finished, Dennison walked straight past me as if he didn’t see me, went round the counter to his stool, and perched himself gravely on the top of it, facing the other clerks.  Then he began speaking, calmly, and without apparent emotion: 

“Gentlemen, I have long desired to speak of this thing, but you gave me no encouragement, and I naturally supposed you were indifferent.  I now thank you all for the friendly interest you take in my affairs.  I will satisfy your curiosity upon this point at once, if you will promise never hereafter to allude to the matter, and to ask not a single question now.”

We all promised upon our sacred honour, and collected about him with the utmost eagerness.  He bent his head a moment, then raised it, quietly saying: 

“My poor wife’s head was bitten off!”

“By what?” we all exclaimed eagerly, with suspended breath.

He gave us a look full of reproach, turned to his desk, and went at his work.

We went at ours.

* * * * *

A FOWL WITCH.

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Cobwebs from an Empty Skull from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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