The Washburn leader. [volume] (Washburn, McLean County, N.D.) 1890-1986, 1900-01-27

%gratiating, but there was q covert ms
science in it and an absence Of breed
ing in the very information which was
an offense.
Mary" said Philip Westinghouse
slowly, you may leave us alone. I
will hear what this young man has to
say"
Reluctantly Mrs. Westinghouse left
the room, and an hour later her hus-
band Joined her in the sitting-room.
His face was gray and haggard, and
he staggered q little as he walked. His
wife arose in alarm. .
"Philip!" she cried, inquiringly.
ut is true, Mary. He is my son. He
is acquainted with facts which con-
vince me-"
Are you sure, Philip"
Il am only too sure, Mary"
"And-and you are-are disappoint-
ed in him, dear?"
Mr.. Westinghouse made no articulate
answer. He sat down quietly, smiled
at his wife. and tainted.
During the next few weeks Mrs.
Westinghouse had an opportunity for
approaching the repulsion which this
young man inspired in his father.
BILE he could not restrain a habitual
sheer. Inexperience might have ex-
cused his bad manners, but it. could
not account for his u~nrestrained curl
osity and his pertinacious presence
for he appeared to be determined that
no privacy should be enjoyed by the
family upon which he had thrust him
self.
His father spent much time with
him, talking with him upon general
topics, and e%ndeavoring, apparently, to
interest him in subjects such as men
of intelligence enjoy. But Mrs. West
inghouse noticed that he did not pre-
sent him at the club, he gave no din
ners in his honor, and he avoided as
far as possible presenting him to any
of his friends.
One morning Mrs. Westinghouse, de-
scending from her room, noticed upon
the wall above the stairs the imprint
of a bloody hand. The sight was SUI
fcently startling in itself, but what
added to her horror as she looked at
it was the fact that it was the imprint
of a hand which had lost its index
finger. .-.
With frightful forebodings she
rushed to her husbands room and
found him with head hanging from his
sleeping couch, murdered. His throat
had been cut.
The day, with its fearful detail,
dragged out it's length. The coroner
came and the old family lawyer came.
and many others.
There is the evidence" they said,
pointing to the sanguinary record on
the wall-tne imprint of the three
fingered hand.
But that conspicuous crime was not
the only thing that made the day
memorable. A burning heat seemed to
brood over everything, and a fearful
oppression weighted the air. So in
tense did it become that between 1t
and the vital shock poor Mary West
inghouse had experienced 1t seemed as
if she could not support life. She fell
asleep under a physicians administra-
ton of opiates, to be awakened along
toward morning by a bewildering
noise. Never in her life had she ex-
p%erienced such a sense of confusion as
when she staggered to her feet. The
room was alight with q glow more in
tense than daylight could give.
Flames were shooting past the win
dow. A roaring like the end of the
world was without. Some one dashed
in her and dragged her out. A
moment later she was on the street,
m of a frantic yet jocular throng,
who with groans and wild laughter,
cries and piercing warnings, plunged
along before a world of flame.
What came after is not pertinent to
the story. The fire of 1871 wiped out
much splendor and much squalor,
much of evil and much of good, and
among the rest the record of a terrible
deed-the imprint the three-fngered
hand had made in blood upon the wall.