"That's precisely it," I said, finding my elusive idea put into words
for me.

"That IS precisely it," said Clayton, with thoughtful eyes upon the
fire.

For just a little while there was silence.

"And at last he did it?" said Sanderson.

"At last he did it. I had to keep him up to it hard, but he did it
at last--rather suddenly. He despaired, we had a scene, and then
he got up abruptly and asked me to go through the whole performance,
slowly, so that he might see. 'I believe,' he said, 'if I could SEE
I should spot what was wrong at once.' And he did. '_I_ know,'
he said. 'What do you know?' said I. '_I_ know,' he repeated.
Then he said, peevishly, 'I CAN'T do it if you look at me--I really
CAN'T; it's been that, partly, all along. I'm such a nervous fellow
that you put me out.' Well, we had a bit of an argument. Naturally
I wanted to see; but he was as obstinate as a mule, and suddenly
I had come over as tired as a dog--he tired me out. 'All right,'
I said, '_I_ won't look at you,' and turned towards the mirror,
on the wardrobe, by the bed.

He started off very fast. I tried to follow him by looking in
the looking-glass, to see just what it was had hung. Round went
his arms and his hands, so, and so, and so, and then with a rush
came to the last gesture of all--you stand erect and open out your
arms--and so, don't you know, he stood. And then he didn't! He didn't!