The Colfax chronicle. [volume] (Colfax, Grant Parish, La.) 1877-1981, 1895-05-11

when found my friend to be wonder
fully entertaining companion, exceed
ingly well read, but shy, thought, on
speaking of modern writer's of fiction.
I'VE parted, at length, with mutual re-
greet.
81 shall not see you for the next day
or two" Wanless remarked. grasping
my hand heartily, ''as business calls
me away; but l shall be delighted if
you will dine with me on Thursday.
Bellamy will not be present, as he has
day off, and l shall order dinner to be
sent in from the hotel. And now, good
afternoon, my dear Gibson"
As matter of fact, my name is
Osborne, but 1t is one of the weaknesses
of human nature, whenever man is
| addressed by the wrong patronymic,
to allow the mistake to pass. 1t would
have been far better for me had /
corrected the mistake, instead of allow
ing it to pass in my haste to accept the
invitation to dinner.
At half-past six on the Thursday
night entered Wanless' dining-room.
The dinner was not all that could be
desired, but then Bellamy was absent,
and the food was brought and served
by waiter from the hotel. The wines,
which were my hosts own, left nothing
to be wanted, the peculiar sherry was
there, and some wonderful champagne
of 1874 vintage to which we both did
ample justice. By the time we had
completed our repast, Wanless eyes
were shining, and his manner had
grown little boisterous.
"And now no more wine," he said, as
he dismissed the waiter. ~ shall suf-
fer terribly in the morning from what
have had already, and Bellamy will
bully me in his polite way for a week.
Let us go into the library and smoke.
We shall be quite alone, and can have
a coy chat. 1t is not often that have
the nerve to face my books, much as
love them. Time was when things
were very different, and"
Wanless broke off abruptly, and led
the way to the library. A lamp was
on the table; little fire burned in the
CRATE; and yet, in that cheerful, book
lined apartment, felt singularly de-
pressed. l tried to shake off the feel
ing; tried to ignore the CLEAN that
flashed in the dark, restless eyes of my
companion. With as much ease as /
could assume, carelessly examined
the well-flled shelves. "You appear
to have a good selection here" re-
marked. 'In SO select gathering, /
am fiattered at seeing volume of my
own" Any writer will pardon the in
nocent vanity of the remark. heard
short, sharp exclamation break from
my host. saw his eyes blazing as he
looked toward the book on which my
hand lay lovingly.
''Oh, SO you are that Osborne" he
said, in a manner most uncompliment-
tary. 81 had no idea that was enter
tanning SO great man. All! ahr' The
laugh was about the most unpleasant
that have ever heard.
''Sit down." my host commanded.
"Oh, l know your work very well, in
deed. In fact, know the work of the
whole gang of you. But haven't read
line of that volume of short stories
you have there. The stories are quite
recent, suppose?"~
replied as quietly as could in the
affirmative, at least as quietly as
man can when his host, with eyes Gin
a fine frenzy rolling" locks the door
and puts the key carefully away in his
pocket.
Then, of course, you remember all
the denoue,nent-hateful word" Wanless
said, as he opened my innocent book
and glanced at the first story. 'We
will have a little mental amusement, and
you shall correct me if am wrong.
see the first story is ghost tale,
called, The White Mystery And
here, looking casually through, find
are two characters. They are brothers
-one, brave military man; the other,
a nervous, imaginative youth, who is
scoffed at by the brother because he
fears ghost. Let me forecast the end
of the story. The youngster sees the
spook, and dies of terror on the spot;
while the other fool can never speak
afterwards without trembling when
he recounts the story. Doesn't he say
that he cannot speak of the nameless
horror of that awful face?'"
''You have guessed it." said, with
stified parody of a laugh.
Bnt Wanless did not appear to be at
all elated by his success. He smiled
with bitter, weary scorn, and fluttered
over the leaves to the next story. II
take no credit to myself for that dis
covery." he proceeded. Here is anoth-
er little thing entitled: My Uncle
Dick Heavens! what awful memories
does that hoary kind Of title conjure
up. Let me prophesy again. Uncle
Dick is a man of money; he is crusty
and curt; the hero of the story-written
in the photographed style-wants to
marry cousin; and the old boy won't
let him. Said old boy dies of apoplexy
after fit of passion. and leaves moth
ing to the narrator but an old deed
chest, in which are discovered securi-
ties Of priceless value. So they get
married, and live happily ever after,
eh?'