The copper country evening news. [volume] (Calumet, Mich.) 18??-1907, 1896-05-25
MERE CHANCE.

| deed. but am delicate and sensitive per-
son. Won understand. and hesitated over
| it ms the diver hesitates on the brink OF q
dark and icy mountain pool. A thought oil
| the shock OF contact holds one back.
AsIwas passing his house one morning
| / said to myself, well, at any rate, II she
loves him II will not be for long" And
| after that decision was not myself, but
sort Of machine.
rang the bell and the servant admitted
me To the drawing room. l waited there
while the tall old clock placidly licked Its
speech Of time The rigid and austere
chairs retained their singular imperturba-
bility-although, Of course, they were
aware OF my purpose-but the little white
tiles of the floor whispered one To another
and looked at me.
Presently no entered the room and 1,
drawing my revolver, shot him. He
soreamed-you know that scream, mostly
unconventional as he fell forward his
blood was upon the little white tiles. They
huddled and covered their eyes from this
rain. liz seemed to mo that the old clock
stopped ticking, as man may gasp In the
middle of a sentence, and chair threw IT.
self In my way as i sprang toward the
door.
A moment later was walking down
the street-tranquil, you understand-and
said 10 myself: 1T is donel Long years
from this day | will say to her that IL was
/ who killed him. After time has eaten
the conscience Of tho thing she will admire
my courage"
was elated that the affair had gone of
so smoothly. / felt like returning home and
taking long, full sleep, like tired work
ingman. When people passed me, l con.
templated their stupidity with sense OF
satisfaction.
But those accursed little white tilesi
heard shrill crying and chattering
behind me, and, looking back, saw them.
blood stained and impassioned, raising
their little hands and screaming: Muir.
der! 1t was hel" / have said that they
had little hands. / am not SO sure OF 1t,
but they had some means OF indicating me
as unerringly as pointing fingers. AS for
their movement, they swept along as easily
as dry, light leaves are carried by the
wind. Always they were shrilIv iis..r..ng
their song of my guilt.
My friend. play IT never beyour fortune
TO be p.isued by crowd Of little blood
stained tiles. / used thousand means
to be free from the clash, clash Of those
tiny feet. ran through the world at my
best speed, but 1t was no better than that
Of an OK, while they, my pursuers, were
always fresh, eager, relentless
am an ingenious person, and used
every trick that desperately fertile man
can invent. Hundreds Of times had al
most evaded them, when some smolder.
ing, neglected spark would blaze up and
discover me.
felt that the eye of conviction would
have no terrors for me, but the eyes of sus-
picion which saw in city after city, on
road after road, drove me to the verge Of
going forward and saying, Eyes. l have
murdered.
People would see the pursuing, clamor.
Gus troop Of blood stained tiles and give
me piercing glances, SO that these swords
played continually at my heart But we
are decorous race, thank God 1t Is very
vulgar to apprehend murderers on the
public streets. We have learned correct
manners from the English. Besides who
can be sure of the meaning Of clamoring
tilesY 1t might be merely a trick OF poll.
tics.
Detectives' What are detectivesi Oh,
yes, have read Of them and their deeds,
when come to think of It. The prehis.
toric races must have been remarkable.
have never been able to understand how
the detectives navigated in stone boats.
Still specimens of their pottery excavated
in Taumalipas show a remarkable knowl.
edge Of mechanics. l remember the little
hydraulic-what' thatS Well, what you
say may be true, my friend, but think
you dream.
The little stained tiles My friend. I
Ia. ,,s.x Al n A. l.
and in the morning they were there, flying
like birds and pecking at my window.
i should have escaped. Heavens, ]
should have escaped What was more
simpler murdered and then walked into
the world, which is wide and intricate.
Do you know that my own clock assisted
in the hunt of meS They asked what time
left my home that morning and IL re-
piled at once, Half after g." The
watch of man had CHANGED TO pass near
the house of the crime told the people,
Seven minutes after o." And OF course
went about day after day repeating,
Eighteen minutes after o."
Do you say that the man who caught
me was very cleverS My friend, l have
lived long and no was the most incredible
dust eating Mexican vaquero wouldn't
hitch his pony TO such q man. Do you
think he deserves credit for my capturef
II he had been as pervading as the atmos.
phere he would never have caught me- II
he was a detective as you say, could
carve a better one from an old table leg
But the tiles! That Is another matter. At
night, l think they flew In long high
flocks, like pigeons. In the day, little mad
things, they murmured on my trail like
frothy mouthed weasels.
/ see that you note these great, round,
vivid orange spots on my coat. OF course
even IL the detective was really carved
from an old table leg he could hardly fail
to apprehend man thus badged As sores
come upon one In the plague, so came
these spots upon my coat. When discov.
cred them, made an effort to free myself
of this coat. tore, tugged, wrenched at
1t, but around my shoulders IL was like
the grip OF dead mans arms do you
know that l have plunged In thousand
lakesy l have smeared this coat with
thousand paints But day and night the
spots burn like lights. ] might walk from
this Jail today II could rid myself OF the
coat, but IL clings-clnRs-cling
AT any rate the person you call detect
I've was not so clever to discover man In
coat of spotted orange, followed BY
shriekinR, blood stained tiles
Yet that noise from the corridor is most
peculiar. But they are always there, nut.
tering and watching, clashing and los. |
thing. Ii sounds as II the dishes of hades
were being washed. Yet l have become
used to IL. Once, indeed, In the night I
cried out to them, I'm Gods name 90
away, little blood stained tiles 4" But thew
doggedly answered, at Is the law -
Stephen Crane In Philadelphia Times.