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136
My Studio Neighbors
·
W. Hamilton Gibson
31
As
I
sat
upon
my
stone
step
that
morning,
I
counted
seven
of
these
smooth
clean
holes
within
close
range,
three
of
them
hardly
more
than
an
inch
apart.
They
penetrated
beyond
the
vision,
and
were
evidently
very
deep.
Knowing
from
past
experience
the
wary
tenant
which
dwelt
within
them,
I
adjusted
myself
to
a
comfortable
attitude,
and
remaining
perfectly
motionless,
awaited
developments.
After
a
lapse
of
possibly
five
minutes,
I
suddenly
discovered
that
I
could
count
but
five
holes;
and
while
recounting
to
make
sure,
moving
my
eyes
as
slowly
as
possible,
my
numeration
was
cut
short
at
four.
In
another
moment
two
more
had
disappeared,
and
the
remaining
two
immediately
followed
in
obscurity,
until
no
vestige
of
a
hole
of
any
kind
was
to
be
seen.
The
ground
appeared
absolutely
level
and
unbroken.
Were
it
not
for
the
circular
depression,
or
"door-yard,"
around
each
hole,
their
location
would,
indeed,
have
been
almost
impossible.
A
slight
motion
of
one
of
my
feet
at
this
juncture,
however,
and,
presto!
what
a
change!
Seven
black
holes
in
an
instant!
And
now
another
wait
of
five
minutes,
followed
by
the
same
hocus-pocus,
and
the
black
spots,
one
by
one,
vanishing
from
sight
even
as
I
looked
upon
them.
But
let
us
keep
perfectly
quiet
this
time
and
examine
the
suspected
spots
more
carefully.
Locating
the
position
of
the
hole
by
the
little
circular
"door-yard,"
we
can
now
certainly
distinguish
a
new
feature,
not
before
noted,
at
the
centre
of
each--two
sharp
curved
prongs,
rising
an
eighth
of
an
inch
or
more
above
the
surface
and
widely
extended.
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