his memory, and four weeks
later he came down one morning to breakfast in an unusually good temper.
There was a certain theory he had worked on the night before he meant to
write to a friend about. It seemed to him his demonstration had been
really brilliant, and then, also, he was already planning out with great
success the details of the scheme for his great work.

He was making an excellent breakfast, for his appetite was always good,
and, needing some more cream, he rang the bell. The maid appeared, he
showed her the empty jug, and as she took it she dropped it with a
sudden cry, smashing it to pieces on the floor. Very pale, she stammered
out:

"Beg pardon, sir, your hand--there is blood upon your hand."

In fact, on the Professor's right hand there showed a drop of blood,
perceptibly larger this time than before. The Professor stared at it
stupidly. He was sure it had not been there a moment before, and he
noticed by the heading of the newspaper at the side of his plate that
this was the first of the month.

With a hasty movement of his napkin he wiped the drop of blood away. The
maid, still apologising, began to pick up the pieces of the jug she had
broken; but the Professor had no further appetite for his breakfast. He
silenced her with a gesture, and, leaving a piece of toast half-eaten on
his plate, he got up and went into his study.

All this was trivial, absurd even. Yet somehow it disturbed him. He got
out a magnifying glass and examined his hand under it. There was nothing
to account for the presence of the drop of blood he and the maid had
seen. It occurred to him that he might have cut himself in shaving; but
when he looked in the mirror he could find no trace of even the
slightest wound.

He decided that, though he had not been aware of it, his nerves must be
a little out of order. That was disconcerting. He had not taken his
nerves into consideration for the simple reason that he had never known
that he possessed any. He made up his mind to treat himself to a holiday
in Switzerland. One or two difficult ascents might brace him up a bit.

Three days later he was in Switzerland, and a few days later again he
was on the summit of a minor but still difficult peak. It had been an
exhilarating climb, and he had enjoyed it. He said something laughingly
to the head guide to the effect that climbing was good sport and a fine
test for the nerves. The head guide agreed, and added politely that if
the nerv