“ ‘Well,’ said Tom, slowly undressing himself, and staring at the old chair all the while, which stood with a mysterious aspect by the bedside, ‘I never saw such a rum concern as that in my days. Very odd,’ said Tom, who had got rather sage with the hot punch⁠—‘very odd.’ Tom shook his head with an air of profound wisdom, and looked at the chair again. He couldn’t make anything of it though, so he got into bed, covered himself up warm, and fell asleep.

“In about half an hour, Tom woke up with a start, from a confused dream of tall men and tumblers of punch; and the first object that presented itself to his waking imagination was the queer chair.

“ ‘I won’t look at it any more,’ said Tom to himself, and he squeezed his eyelids together, and tried to persuade himself he was going to sleep again. No use; nothing but queer chairs danced before his eyes, kicking up their legs, jumping over each other’s backs, and playing all kinds of antics.