I told him that I thought I should have to print
it; it was too good to keep. No, it wouldn't do, he said. I knew
well enough he was right, but I insisted; the chance was too good
a one to miss. Mr. Matthews shook his head. He was an invalid,
and was taking his daily treatment with an electric battery while
we talked and smoked. He warned me laughingly against the consequences
of what I proposed to do, and changed the subject.
"Ever try these?" he said, giving me the handles. I took them,
unsuspecting, and felt the current tingle in my finger-tips. The
next instant it gripped me like a vice. I squirmed with pain.
"Stop!" I yelled, and tried to throw the things away; but my hands
crooked themselves about them like a bird's claws and held them
fast. They would not let go. I looked at the Commissioner. He was
studying the battery leisurely, and slowly pulling out the plug
that increased the current.
"For mercy's sake, stop!" I called to him. He looked up inquiringly.
"About that interview, now," he drawled. "Do you think you ought
to print--"
"Wow, wow! Let go, I tell you!" It hurt dreadfully.
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