He is fondest of doing this at
twilight, and loves the darkest corner of the room. From the half-light he
will suddenly thrust out before you a grinning gargoyle head, to which he
will give in an instant more a pair of spider legs, and then, with one
roll, stretch it out into a crocodile, whose jaws seem so near snapping
that you involuntarily draw your chair further back. Next, in a freak of
ventriloquism, he startles you still more by bringing from the crocodile's
mouth a sigh, so long drawn, so human, that you really shudder, and are
ready to implore him to play no more tricks. He knows when he has reached
this limit, and soothes you at once by a tender, far-off whisper, like the
wind through pines, sometimes almost like an Aeolian harp; then he rouses
you from your dreams by what you are sure is a tap at the door. You turn,
speak, listen; no one enters; the tap again. Ah! it is only a little more
of the ventriloquism of this wonderful creature. You are alone with him,
and there was no tap at the door.
But when there is, and the friend comes in, then my companion's genius
shines out.
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