Pullman herald. [volume] (Pullman, W.T. [Wash.]) 1888-1989, 1899-09-23

but attributed 1t 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, 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 cozy den
and we were alone.
why, Ben, old fellow, you must have
struck 1t rich" l ventured, and ne
looked at me, paling little.
Haven't you heard?" he asked.
Not a 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 a
blow all this had been to Ben.
He laughed softly, and his hands
moved in the old, restless way | had so
often noticed when he had something
important to tell me.
You came away before | took the
contract to restore the old placer he
said.
Yes" I answered, with something
like a gasp. Had they added insult to
injury2 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
l been thinking Of Its possibilities all
these years."
But to do It for another man-for
him, Benz l interrupted.
We'll, he really couldn't help It, you
know though it was not until later that
| was able to take that philosophical
view OF 1t. 1t was only that l loved
Lakewood too we'll to have it spoiled,
and-and 1 wanted to get away from
the city, for Dolly's father-well, he
liked Lakewood and all that goes with
it, and so Dan, and not l, was in high
favor with him"
1T was hard when you had every
reason to expect it for your own"
persisted.
Yes, but there was the bigger trou-
BILE using me up" he said. smiling
softly
He sat still then; still, except those
restless hands; slender and white as a
womans they were. and l knew by
their moving that Ben's story was a
hard one for him to tell.
You don't believe in ghosts-in the
return of the disembodied spirit, do
you. DIck?"
well, no, Ben. suppose l am ma
terial. Ny Profession"
But you'll believe my story" He
| looked up with his sweet, calm smile.
Certainly l will. Am l TO hear 1t
now?"
He 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 | 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. l had only reached
home in time for the funeral, you
know, and for the-the will, which
could not be found.
For a year, q whole year, l worked
never once growing tired OF the ex'
qubsite woods, metals and fabrics.
year, and the anniversary OF my
adopted fathers death was at hand
All! the place was a wonder OF beauty
now!
st happened that l was at work IN
the old mans room, the long one along
the south wing. 1t was midnight and
was busy with NIX drawings. NOW
and then a splash of rain came with
the wind through the window, and the
light the only one In the room hickereo
and cast strange shadows on my pa
pes.
II had measured the wall and was
turning away when something on the
pillow caught my eye, and stood STILL
My blood froze as the horror OF 1t came
upon me, and my feet were like lead.
ION the pillow lay the head Of Mr..
Guthrie The fine, grim old face with
it's inscrutable eyes and thin lips, the
brow and shining white hair-ah this,
but the head only-the head severed
from body that did not see.
al heard a voice, low soooing
voice, but my soul was faint with SICK
snlng fear. and I did not hear the