The Carbon advocate. [volume] (Lehighton, Pa.) 1872-1924, 1892-10-01

ing and his drabbed hands were gr1pped
together. The little man was oontin-
ually looking behind his chair. Upon
the countenance Of the pudgy man ep-
peared conceit for an approaching tri-
umph over the little man, mingled with
apprehension for his own safety. Five
pipes glowed as rivals OF the timid can
die. Profound silence dropped heavily
over them. Finally the slate colored
man spoke;
"My ol uncle, Jim Crocker, he's sick
ter death"
The four men started and then shrank
back in their chairs.
Damn i'll" replied the little man
vaguely.
Again there was a long silence. Sud
denly II was broken by q wild cry from
the room above. 1t was a shrek that
struck upon them with appalling swift
ness, like a flash Of lightning The
walls whirled and the floor rumbled. It
brought the men together with a rush.
They huddled in heap and stared at
the white terror in each others faces.
The slate colored man grasped the can
die and fared it above his head. "The
black dorg," he howled, and plunged
at the stairway. The maddened four
men followed frantically, for it is better
to be in the presence Of the awful than
only within hearing.
Their ears still quivering with the
shriek, they bounded through the hole
in the ceiling and into the sickroom.
With quilts drawn closely to his
shrunken breast for shield, his bony
hand gripping the cover, an old man
lay, with glazing eyes fixed on the open
window. His throat gurgled and a
froth appeared at his mouth.
From the outer darkness came a
strange, unnatural wall, burdened with
weight Of death, and each note filled
with forebOding. 1t was the song Of
the spectral dog.
"Godp screamed the little man. He
ran to the open window He could see
nothing at first save the pine trees, en-
gagged in furious combat tossing back
and forth and struggling. The moon
was peeping cautiously over the rims Of
some black clouds. But the chant of
the phantom guided the little mans
eyes, and he at length perceived its
shadowy form on the ground under the
window. He fell away gasping at the
sight. The pudgy man crouched in a
corner, chattering insanely. Tho slate
colored man, in his fear, crooked his
legs and hooked like hideous Chinese
Idol. The man upon the bed was turned
to stone, save the froth, which pulsated
In the final struggle terror will fight
the inevitable. The little man roared
maniacal curses, and rushing again to
the window began to throw various ar
ticles at the specter.
A mug, plate, a knife, fork, all
crashed or changed on the ground, but
the song of the specter continued. The
bowl of beef tea followed. As it struck
the ground the phantom ceased its cry.
The men in the chamber sank Imply
against the walls, with the unearthly
wall still ringing in their ears and the
fear unfaded from their eyes They
waited again.
The little man felt his nerves vibrate
Destruction was better than another
wait. He grasped a candle and, going
to the window, held it over his head and
looked out
"Ho" he said
His companions crawled to the win
dow and peered out with him.
"He's eatin the beef tea" said the
slate colored man family.
"The damn dog was hungry" said the
pudgy man.
"There's your phantom, said the little
man to the pudgy man.
On the bed, the old man lay dead.
Without, the specter was wagging its
tail.-New York Tribune.