“You have certainly parted with the remnant of your mind! Where lightning strikes any other substance once, it strikes water fifty times. Do turn it off. Oh, dear, I am sure that nothing in this world can save us. It does seem to me that—Mortimer, what was that?” “It was a da—it was a picture. Knocked it down.” “Then you are close to the wall! I never heard of such imprudence! Don’t you _know_ that there’s no better conductor for lightning than a wall? Come away from there! And you came as near as anything to swearing, too. Oh, how can you be so desperately wicked, and your family in such peril? Mortimer, did you order a feather bed, as I asked you to do?” “No. Forgot it.” “Forgot it! It may cost you your life. If you had a feather bed, now, and could spread it in the middle of the room and lie on it, you would be perfectly safe. Come in here,—come quick, before you have a chance to commit any more frantic indiscretions.” I tried, but the little closet would not hold us both with the door shut, unless we could be content to smother. I gasped awhile, then forced my way out. My wife called out,— “Mortimer, something _must_ be done for your preservation. Give me that German book that is on the end of the mantel-piece, and a candle; but don’t light it; give me a match; I will light it in here. That book has some directions in it.” I got the book,—at cost of a vase and some other brittle things; and the madam shut herself up with her candle. I had a moment’s peace; then she called out,— “Mortimer, what was that?” “Nothing but the cat.” “The cat! Oh, destruction! Catch her, and shut her up in the wash-stand. Do be quick, love; cats are _full_ of electricity. I just know my hair will turn white with this night’s awful perils.” I heard the muffled sobbings again. But for that, I should not have moved hand or foot in such a wild enterprise in the dark. However, I went at my task,—over chairs, and against all sorts of obstructions, all of them hard ones, too, and most of them with sharp edges,—and at last I got kitty cooped up in the commode, at an expense of over four hundred dollars in broken furniture and shins. Then these muffled words came from the closet:— “It says the safest thing is to stand on a chair in the middle of the room, Mortimer; and the legs of the chair must be insulated, with non-conductors. That is, you must set the legs of the chair in glass tumblers. [_Fzt!—boom—bang!—smash!_] Oh, hear that! Do hurry, Mortimer, before you are struck.” I managed to find and secure the tumblers. I got the last four,—broke all the rest. I insulated the chair legs, and called for further instructions.