CHAPTER FOUR.
HOW I WAS CURED OF MY AILMENTS, AND HOW MY MASTER BEGAN LIFE AT RANDLEBURY.
All this while Tom Drift had said nothing, but had stood regarding first my master, and then me, with mingled amusement, pity, and astonishment.
At last, when poor Charlie fairly thrust me into his hands, that he might see with his own eyes the calamity which had befallen the watch that had been destined to minister such consolation to his time- inquiring mind, he took me gingerly, and stared at me as if I had been a toad or a dead rat.
"Can't you make it go, Tom Drift?
Please do." "How can I make him go?
I don't know what's the row." "Do you think it would be a good thing to wind it up ?" asked Charlie.
"Don't know; you might try." Charlie did wind me up; but that was not what I wanted.

Already I had had that done while waiting at Gunborough Junction.
"What do you say to shaking him ?" asked Tom Drift presently.

Most people spoke of me as "it," but Tom Drift always called me "him." "I hardly like," said Charlie; "_you_ try." Tom took me and solemnly shook me; it was no use.

I still remained speechless and helpless.
"Suppose we shove his wheels on ?" next suggested that sage philosopher.
Charlie demurred a little at this; it seemed almost too bold a remedy, even for him; however he yielded to Tom's superior judgment.
The heir of the house of Drift accordingly took a pin from the lining of his jacket, and, taking off my coat and waistcoat, proceeded first to prod one of my wheels and then another, but in vain.

They just moved for an instant but then halted again, as stiff end lifeless as ever.
For a moment the profound Tom seemed baffled, and then at last a brilliant idea occurred to him.
"I tell you what, I expect he's got damp, or cold, or something.