Mr Polton Explains

"DRAT that clock!" exclaimed my Aunt Judy. "Saturday night, too. Of
course, it would choose Saturday night to stop."

She looked up malevolently at the stolid face and the motionless pendulum
that hung straight down like a plumb-bob, and then, as she hopped up on a
chair to lift the clock off its nail, she continued: "Get me the bellows,
Nat."

I extricated myself with some difficulty from the little arm-chair. For
dear Uncle Gollidge had over looked the fact that boys grow and chairs do
not, so that it was now a rather tight fit with a tendency to become,
like a snail's shell, a permanent attachment. The separation
accomplished, I took the bellows from the hook beside the fire-place and
went to my aunt's assistance; she having, in her quick, brisk way,
unhooked the pendulum and opened the little side doors of the case. Then
I held the clock steady on the table while she plied the bellows with the
energy of a village blacksmith, blowing out a most encouraging cloud of
dust through the farther door-opening.

"We will see what that will do," said she, slapping the little doors to,
fastening the catches and hooking on the pendulum. Once more she sprang
up on the chair, replaced the dock on its nail, gave the pendulum a
persuasive pat, and descended.

"What is the time by your watch, Dad?" she asked. Old Mr. Gollidge paused
in the story that he was telling and looked at her with mild reproach. A
great story-teller was old Mr. Gollidge (he had been a ship's carpenter),
but Aunt Judy had a way of treating his interminable yarns as mere
negligible sounds like the ticking of a clock or the dripping of a leaky
tap, and she now repeated her question; whereupon the old gentleman,
having contributed to a large spittoon at his side, stuck his pipe in his
mouth and hauled a bloated silver watch from the depths of his pocket as
if he were hoisting out cargo from the lower hold.

"Watch seems to say," he announced, after looking at it with slight
surprise, "as it's a quarter past six."

"Six!" shrieked Aunt Judy. "Why, I heard the church clock strike seven a
full half-hour ago."

"Then," said the old gentleman, "'twould seem to be about three bells,
say half-past seven. Watch must have stopped."

He confirmed the diagnosis by applying it to his ear, and then, having
fished up from another pocket an old-fashioned bronze, crank-shaped key,
opened the front glass of the watch, which had the winding-hole in the
dial like a clock, inserted the key and proceeded to wind as if he were
playing a little barrel-organ.

"Half-past seven, you say," said he, transferring the key to the centre
square preparatory to setting the hands.

Aunt Judy looked up at the clock, which was still sluggishly wagging its
pendulum but uttering no tick, and shook her head impatiently.

"It's no use guessing," said she. "We shall want to know the time in the
morning. If you put on your slipper, Nat, you can run round and have a
look at Mr. Abraham's clock. It isn't far to go."

The necessity for putting on my slipper arose from a blister on my heel
which had kept me a bootless prisoner in the house. I began cautiously to
insinuate my foot into the slipper and had nearly completed the operation
when Aunt Judy suddenly interposed.