Walker Lake bulletin. (Hawthorne, Nev.) 1883-1926, 1899-09-20
HAPPY EVER AFTER \
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40 NTIL we met face to face in
II crowded street | had not known
y of Ben being in London.
His manner seemed little nervous,
but | attributed it TO our unexpected
meeting.
We had been friends until our walks
In life widened apart. He became an
architect and decorator and | had
chosen medicine.
When the cab stopped before hand
some house and Ben sprang out. l was
silent with amazement. He led me
through halls and rooms that seemed
old and grand to my American eyes,
and then closed the door of Il cozy den
and we We're alone.
why, Ben, old fellow, you must have
struck 1t rlch," | ventured, and he
looked at me, paling little.
Haven't you heard?" he asked.
Not word since the old man was
cut up IN the wreck, and Dan Ward,
being the next Of kin, came In for the
fortune that should have been yours"
l replied, hesitatingly, knowing what
blow all this had been to Ben.
He laughed softly and his hands
moved In the old, restless way l had 50
often noticed when he had something
important to tell me.
"You came away before l took the
contract to restore the old placer" he
said.
Yes" | answered, with something
like a gasp. Had they added insult to
injury? Had they dared
"At first the offer hurt me, and then
the man In me gave way to what you
used to call the artistic instinct. Hadn't
been thinking of its possibilities all
these yearsy'
But to do 1t for another man--for
him, Ben" interrupted.
well, he really couldn't help 1t, you
know, though 1t was not until later that
/ was able to take that philosophical
view of it. 1t was only that | loved
Lakewood too well to have 1t spoiled,
and-and | wanted to get away from
the city, for Dolly's father--well, he
liked Lakewood and all that goes with
1t. and so Dan, and not |, was In high
favor with him"
1T was hard when you had every
reason to expect 1t for your own" l
persisted.
"Yes, but there was the bigger trou-
BILE using me up" he said, smiling
softly.
He sat sull then; still, except those
restless hands; slender and white as a
woman's they were, and | knew by
their moving that Bens story was Il
hard one for him to tell
"You don't believe In ghosts-in the
return of the disembodied spirit, do
you, DickT'
"Well, no, Ben. suppose l am ma
terial My profession-"
But you'll believe my story" He
looked up with his sweet, calm smile,
Certainly l will. Am | to hear It
now?'
de glanced at the clock. "Yes. I'll
tell you now, before Dolly comes"
Dolly
You have the last Of the story first.
The married and happy ever after,
you know Well, you see, we went
down to Lakewood and the men lived
at the village hotel But l put up at
the old place, with CASTOR and Hannah
TO take care OF me. Poor old things!
Over and over they described the hor-
rible scene to me. | had only reached
homo In time for the funeral, you
know, and for the-the will, which
could not be found.
"For a year, a whole year, | worked
never once growing tired of the ex-
uuksite woods, metals and fabrics. A
year, and the anniversary Of my
adopted fathers death wan at hand
All. the place was a wonder Of beauty
now!
1T happened that / was at work IL
the old mans room, the long one along
the south wing. 1t was midnight, and
was busy with my drawings. Now
and then splash of rain came witt
the wind through the window, and the
light, the only one In the room, fiickered
and east strange shadows on my pa
pers.
IL had measured the will and was
turning away when something on the
pillow caught my eye, and l stood still
NV blood froze as the horror Of 1t came
upon me, and my feet were like lead.
"On the pillow lay the head OF Mr.
Guthrie. The fine, grim old face, with
its inscrutable eyes and thin lips, the
brow and shining white hair--all this
but the head only-the head severed
from body that did not see.
~ heard voice. low, sobbing
voice, but my soul was faint with sick
ening fear, and did not hear tht