he clocks had no minute hands when
even hours were of such minor importance?"

The bus halted with a jerk, to escape running over an abnormally daring
pedestrian.

"A second made some difference to him," said Christopher, when once more
the vehicle was in motion.

"All the difference between being in this world and out of it," was the
terse reply. "He'd better have lost a minute rather than take a chance
like that. But, alas, we have got into the habit of thinking we cannot
stop for anything. From morning to night we race about as if the bogey
man were at our heels. Sometimes I wish myself in the forest of Arden,
where there were no clocks."

"You'd have nothing to repair there, certainly."

"I know it. And before a week was out I should be the most miserable of
mortals, in consequence," retorted the Scotchman quickly. "No, no! It is
better to be perched up here on a bus whizzing to doctor a balky old
clock than to be idle day in and day out."

"Where is the balky old clock you mention?" Christopher inquired.

"In a fine mansion not far from here," replied McPhearson. "A rich old
gentleman who is a clock collector lives there all alone with enough
servants to man a warship. You may be sure our shoe leather will not be
wasted, for none of his clocks are ever out of commission because of
neglect or foolish handling."

Signaling the bus, the travelers descended into the street and walked a
few blocks.

"You are sure your old gentleman won't mind my coming with you?"
murmured Christopher, as they neared the house.

"Oh, Mr. Hawley won't mind. I have been coming here for years. He never
lets anybody else touch his clocks. If he is at home, he will probably
be proud as a peacock to show you his treasures; and if he isn't you can
look about by yourself. He never minds what I do."

On investigation, however, it proved that Mr. Hawley was not at home.

"He done gone to some board meeting this morning," explained the colored
butler. "And sorry enough he'll be to miss you too, Mr. McPhearson, for
he always likes havin' a talk with you."

"Which clock is it this time, Ebenezer?"

"Number Seventeen, sir," answered the darky gravely. "She done been
kickin' up something vexatious. She absumlutely won't strike with the
others--absumlutely won't! After the rest of 'em are through, in she
comes a minute late, chiming away on her own hook, all independent
like, as if she was runnin' the world. You know what that means. Mr