A torrent of rain now began falling outside, and I knew the roads were
impassable; but, chafing with impatience, I resolved upon another
advance. Cautiously proceeding _via_ the sofa, my attention fell upon
a scrap of newspaper; and, to my unspeakable disappointment, I read:
"The various tribes of the Interior are engaged in a bitter warfare."
It may have related to America, but I could not afford to hazard all
upon a guess. I made a wide _detour_ by way of the coal-scuttle, and
skirted painfully along the sideboard. All this consumed so much time
that my pipe expired in gloom, and I went back to the hearthrug to get
a match off the chimney-piece. Having done so, I stepped over to the
table and sat down, taking up the pen and spreading the paper between
myself and the ink-bottle. It was late, and something must be done.
Writing the familiar word Ujijijijijiji, I caught a neighbourly
cockroach, skewered him upon a pin, and fastened him in the centre of
the word. At this supreme moment I felt inclined to fall upon his neck
and devour him with kisses; but knowing by experience that cockroaches
are not good to eat, I restrained my feelings. Lifting my hat, I said:
"Dr. Deadwood, I presume?"
_He did not deny it!_
Seeing he was feeling sick, I gave him a bit of cheese and cheered him
up a trifle.
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