Professor Milne tells some odd stories of his early experiences with the earthquake measurer. At one time his films showed evidences of the most horrible earthquakes, and he was afraid for the moment that all Japan had been shaken to pieces and possibly engulfed by the sea. But investigation showed that a little grey spider had been up to pranks in the box. The spider wasn't particularly interested in earthquakes, but he took the greatest pleasure in the swinging of the boom, and soon began to join in the game himself. He would catch the end of the boom with his feelers and tug it over to one side as far as ever he could. Then he would anchor himself there and hold on like grim death until the boom slipped away. Then he would run after it, and tug it over to the other side, and hold it there until his strength failed again. And so he would keep on for an hour or two until quite exhausted, enjoying the fun immensely, and never dreaming that he was manufacturing wonderful seismograms to upset the scientific world, since they seemed to indicate shocking earthquake disasters in all directions. Mr. Cleveland Moffett, to whom I am indebted for much of the information contained in this chapter, tells how the reporters for the London papers rush off to see Professor Milne every time there is news of a great earthquake, and how he usually corrects their information. In June, 1896, for instance, the little observatory was fairly besieged with these searchers for news. "This earthquake happened on the 17th," said they, "and the whole eastern coast of Japan was overwhelmed with tidal waves, and 30,000 lives were lost." "That last is probable," answered Professor Milne, "but the earthquake happened on the 15th, not the 17th;" and then he gave them the exact hour and minute when the shocks began and ended. "But our cables put it on the 17th." "Your cables are mistaken." And, sure enough, later despatches came with information that the destructive earthquake had occurred on the 15th, within half a minute of the time Professor Milne had specified. There had been some error of transmission in the earlier newspaper despatches. Again, a few months later, the newspapers published cablegrams to the effect that there had been a severe earthquake at Kobe, with great injury to life and property. "That is not true," said Professor Milne. "There may have been a slight earthquake at Kobe, but nothing that need cause alarm." And the mail reports a few weeks later confirmed his reassuring statement, and showed that the previous sensational despatches had been grossly exaggerated. Professor Milne is also the man to whose words cable companies lend anxious ear, for what he says often means thousands of dollars to them. Early in January, 1898, it was officially reported that two West Indian cables had broken on December 31, 1897.