A TRAMP ABROAD By Mark Twain

and I was sorrier than ever. I resolved that I would

suffer all possible torture before I would disturb him a

third time.

The mouse eventually retired, and by and by I was sinking

to sleep, when a clock began to strike; I counted till

it was done, and was about to drowse again when another

clock began; I counted; then the two great RATHHAUS clock

angels began to send forth soft, rich, melodious blasts

from their long trumpets. I had never heard anything

that was so lovely, or weird, or mysterious–but when they

got to blowing the quarter-hours, they seemed to me to be

overdoing the thing. Every time I dropped off for the moment,

a new noise woke me. Each time I woke I missed my coverlet,

and had to reach down to the floor and get it again.

At last all sleepiness forsook me. I recognized the fact

that I was hopelessly and permanently wide awake.

Wide awake, and feverish and thirsty. When I had lain

tossing there as long as I could endure it, it occurred

to me that it would be a good idea to dress and go out in

the great square and take a refreshing wash in the fountain,

and smoke and reflect there until the remnant of the night

was gone.

I believed I could dress in the dark without waking Harris.

I had banished my shoes after the mouse, but my slippers

would do for a summer night. So I rose softly, and gradually

got on everything–down to one sock. I couldn’t seem

to get on the track of that sock, any way I could fix it.

But I had to have it; so I went down on my hands and knees,

with one slipper on and the other in my hand, and began to

paw gently around and rake the floor, but with no success.

I enlarged my circle, and went on pawing and raking.

With every pressure of my knee, how the floor creaked!

and every time I chanced to rake against any article,

it seemed to give out thirty-five or thirty-six times

more noise than it would have done in the daytime.

In those cases I always stopped and held my breath till I

was sure Harris had not awakened–then I crept along again.

I moved on and on, but I could not find the sock;

I could not seem to find anything but furniture.

I could not remember that there was much furniture

in the room when I went to bed, but the place was alive

with it now –especially chairs–chairs everywhere–

had a couple of families moved in, in the mean time? And

I never could seem to GLANCE on one of those chairs,

but always struck it full and square with my head.

My temper rose, by steady and sure degrees, and as I

pawed on and on, I fell to making vicious comments under

my breath.

Finally, with a venomous access of irritation, I said I

would leave without the sock; so I rose up and made straight

for the door–as I supposed–and suddenly confronted my

dim spectral image in the unbroken mirror. It startled

the breath out of me, for an instant; it also showed me

that I was lost, and had no sort of idea where I was.

When I realized this, I was so angry that I had to sit

down on the floor and take hold of something to keep

from lifting the roof off with an explosion of opinion.

If there had been only one mirror, it might possibly have

helped to locate me; but there were two, and two were as

bad as a thousand; besides, these were on opposite sides

of the room. I could see the dim blur of the windows,

but in my turned-around condition they were exactly

where they ought not to be, and so they only confused me

instead of helping me.

I started to get up, and knocked down an umbrella;

it made a noise like a pistol-shot when it struck

that hard, slick, carpetless floor; I grated my teeth

and held my breath–Harris did not stir. I set the

umbrella slowly and carefully on end against the wall,