A Stout Hawser

My boots met the dark floorboards. Stiff... but steady. Ahead lay a low wooden table, its legs like thick ship timbers. Between them, curled on the rug, was a thick braided phone cable. I paused. Watched it for half a minute. It did not strike. I stepped forward, bent down, and took hold of the ribbed rubber cord with both hands. Heavy. Pliable. I hauled on it, bracing one heel against the table leg until a loose loop gave way. It is no hemp hawser... but it holds firm. I wound a portion around the timber to secure the footing.