Short Fiction Edgar Allan Poe (books for men to read .txt) 📖

“How can you?⁠—how⁠—can⁠—you?”⁠—interrupted the object of my animadversions, gasping for breath, and tearing off, with a desperate exertion, the bandage around its jaws⁠—“how can you, Mr. Lackobreath, be so infernally cruel as to pinch me in that manner by the nose? Did you not see how they had fastened up my mouth⁠—and you must know⁠—if you know anything⁠—how vast a superfluity of breath I have to dispose of! If you do not know, however, sit down and you shall see. In my situation it is really a great relief to be able to open ones mouth⁠—to be able to expatiate⁠—to be able to communicate with a person like yourself, who do not think yourself called upon at every period to interrupt the thread of a gentleman’s discourse. Interruptions are annoying and should undoubtedly be abolished⁠—don’t you think so?⁠—no reply, I beg you⁠—one person is enough to be speaking at a time.⁠—I shall be done by and by, and then you may begin.⁠—How the devil sir, did you get into this place?⁠—not a word I beseech you⁠—been here some time myself⁠—terrible accident!⁠—heard of it, I suppose?⁠—awful calamity!⁠—walking under your windows⁠—some short while ago⁠—about the time you were stage-struck⁠—horrible occurrence!⁠—heard of ‘catching one’s breath,’ eh?⁠—hold your tongue I tell you!⁠—I caught somebody else’s!⁠—had always too much of my own⁠—met Blab at the corner of the street⁠—wouldn’t give me a chance for a word⁠—couldn’t get in a syllable edgeways⁠—attacked, consequently, with epilepsis⁠—Blab made his escape⁠—damn all fools!⁠—they took me up for dead, and put me in this place⁠—pretty doings all of them!⁠—heard all you said about me⁠—every word a lie⁠—horrible!⁠—wonderful!⁠—outrageous!⁠—hideous!⁠—incomprehensible!⁠—et cetera⁠—et cetera⁠—et cetera⁠—et cetera⁠—”

It is impossible to conceive my astonishment at so unexpected a discourse, or the joy with which I became gradually convinced that the breath so fortunately caught by the gentleman (whom I soon recognized as my neighbor Windenough) was, in fact, the identical expiration mislaid by myself in the conversation with my wife. Time, place, and circumstances rendered it a matter beyond question. I did not, however, immediately release my hold upon Mr. W.’s proboscis⁠—not at least during the long period in which the inventor of Lombardy poplars continued to favor me with his explanations.

In this respect I was actuated by that habitual prudence which has ever been my predominating trait. I reflected that many difficulties might still lie in the path of my preservation which only extreme exertion on my part would be able to surmount. Many persons, I considered, are prone to estimate commodities in their possession⁠—however valueless to the then proprietor⁠—however troublesome, or distressing⁠—in direct ratio with the advantages to be derived by others from their attainment, or by themselves from their abandonment. Might not this be the case with Mr. Windenough? In displaying anxiety for the breath of which he was at present so willing to get rid, might I not lay myself open to the exactions of his avarice? There are scoundrels in this world, I remembered with a sigh, who will not scruple to take unfair opportunities with even a next door neighbor, and (this remark is from Epictetus) it is precisely at that time when men are most anxious to throw off the burden of their own calamities that they feel the least desirous of relieving them in others.

Upon considerations similar to these, and still retaining my grasp upon the nose of Mr. W., I accordingly thought proper to model my reply.

“Monster!” I began in a tone of the deepest indignation⁠—“monster and double-winded idiot!⁠—dost thou, whom for thine iniquities it has pleased heaven to accurse with a twofold respimtion⁠—dost thou, I say, presume to address me in the familiar language of an old acquaintance?⁠—‘I lie,’ forsooth! and ‘hold my tongue,’ to be sure!⁠—pretty conversation indeed, to a gentleman with a single breath!⁠—all this, too, when I have it in my power to relieve the calamity under which thou dost so justly suffer⁠—to curtail the superfluities of thine unhappy respiration.”

Like Brutus, I paused for a reply⁠—with which, like a tornado, Mr. Windenough immediately overwhelmed me. Protestation followed upon protestation, and apology upon apology. There were no terms with which he was unwilling to comply, and there were none of which I failed to take the fullest advantage.

Preliminaries being at length arranged, my acquaintance delivered me the respiration; for which (having carefully examined it) I gave him afterward a receipt.

I am aware that by many I shall be held to blame for speaking in a manner so cursory, of a transaction so impalpable. It will be thought that I should have entered more minutely, into the details of an occurrence by which⁠—and this is very true⁠—much new light might be thrown upon a highly interesting branch of physical philosophy.

To all this I am sorry that I cannot reply. A hint is the only answer which I am permitted to make. There were circumstances⁠—but I think it much safer upon consideration to say as little as possible about an affair so delicate⁠—so delicate, I repeat, and at the time involving the interests of a third party whose sulphurous resentment I have not the least desire, at this moment, of incurring.

We were not long after this necessary arrangement in effecting an escape from the dungeons of the sepulchre. The united strength of our resuscitated voices was soon sufficiently apparent. Scissors, the Whig editor, republished a treatise upon “the nature and origin of subterranean noises.” A reply⁠—rejoinder⁠—confutation⁠—and justification⁠—followed in the columns of a Democratic gazette. It was not until the opening of the vault to decide the controversy, that the appearance of Mr. Windenough and myself proved both parties to have been decidedly in the wrong.

I cannot conclude these details of some very singular passages in a life at all times sufficiently eventful, without again recalling to the attention of the reader the merits of that indiscriminate philosophy which is a sure and ready shield against those shafts of calamity which can neither be seen, felt nor fully understood. It