The Savannah morning news. (Savannah, Ga.) 1900-current, 1902-05-11

belief the thing had been some kind of
a hollow case, with more in it than
what that hand gripped. Some kind of
a gas, maybe, or fluid that turned to
gas, an in the turnin'-but, there, it's
all guesswork.
When it comes to bettin',' says
Brady, III bet I'm goin' below, an as
the doors battened here's my roadT
Leaning forward he gripped the iron
bar with his left hand, an caught
a grab o. the edge o the skylight with
his right to hoist himself up. But as
his fingers closed inwards over the
ledge he flung himself back with yell.
Holy Nary What's that?'
Then he stood starin', his great
mouth wide open an droppin' at the
corners. Twas all one as if he'd seen
=" 'shucksr says Clark, did We never
face a head man before? That kind
can't hurt ye.'
Ever face a dead man? Aye. did I,
answers Brady, the Irish in him f1arin'
up, an if We give me any more O. yer
lip. I'll be facin' another. an mighty
quick, too Who said dead man|-
though, be the hockey, twas all the feel
of a corpse
Then. why don't we go down?'
For answer Brady leant one hand
on the bar as before, and bent eau
tiously forward. The other hand he
rested on the outer edge O. the sky
light. an l took notice he didn't put
as much as a tip of his finger across
the rim. Down he lowered himself
slowly down, down, down, like as If he
was goin' to drink, until his face was
level with the bar an the edge o the
wood. Then, as it dipped below the
line. he jumped back like before.
None O. yer tricks. Clark he
yelled.
gone mad?
/'' Didn't We slop something cowld an
wet in me face"
You're crazed,' says Clark, clean
crazed. Where would 1 get anythin'
cold or wet in such a swelter o heat?
No one stirred a finger. Here, I'll go
below
"Sittin' on the edge O. the wood he
gripped the bar, Slowed himself round.
an made rs if to drop his legs through
the skylight; but all of a sudden he
stopped, an I heard him gasp.
"'By gumn says he, an his face
went white. That's queer-that's
darned queer
What's the matter. Clarke said
Brady, jeerin' him. Why don't ye go
down? Is it the dead men yre feared
y
God rest their sowls!' he added SOL
emily.
But Clark never needed him except
to say, I'm sorry 1 spoke, Irish. From
Brady he turned to me.
Lay your hand alongside my leg,
will We, Towson, an tell me what's got
me-
Then I noticed that, instead of his
feet dangling this way an that as a
mans mustly do, they hung stiff an
cramped-like.
palm out, slowly. slowly, the way I'd
seen Brady move-though for the life
O. me 1 couldn't have told why, for
there was nothin' to see-an like him,
went back with a jump an a yell.
There, just below the line O. the frame,
where there was nothin'. nothin' at all
but clear air an sunshine. was a cold
spongy cleanliness, like dry, soft ice-ice
that was thin, dry Jelly, an that sank
under the hand like dough.
Why don't We go down., says Bra
dy again why don't We go down, ye
Yankee coward? Is it the dead you're
feared OFF,
THAT stung Clark. Curious, isn't it,
Call a man a cur, an he grins, or
maybe ruffles up a bit but call him an
English cur, an he'll shake the life out
of you! To couple Yank with coward
was too much for Clark, an God keep
me from ever seem again the sight 1
saw then!
Who's coward?' says he. Don't
talk so much, Irish. Coward yourself,
an come on if you dare All hands
below
Gripping the bar in front. he swung
off and let himself drop with a thrust
up that partly turned him round For
breath he hung as if upon nothin':
but l reckon he hadn't fairly let go the
bar when he'd have given the world an
all for a fresh hold. Down he floun-
dered, not straight as a man should,
but as If he was drownin and drownin
in cold pitch that sucked him in by
inches. That the stuff whatever it
was, gripped him close. know, for I
saw his clothes run up his leg an
leave t here; an that he resented his
foolhardiness 1 know, for up flew one
hand to catch at the bar, up with a
wild swing-an missed it, gritting it
with his finger nails, an out flew the
other, clutchin' at the wooden ledge,
but miWed it, too.
Lord Lord he screamed, with a
sob, throwing his head back. Lord!
Lord
His eyes caught mine as he went
under. though to me an Brady it was
just that his open molah was below
the line O. the skylight But under he
was, for the screams stopped short
with choked gurgle, though his
mouth gasped an his jaw wagged like
as If he was chewin' on somethin soft
Up to that we had stood scared and
staring, but as he screamed our sense