The Forrest City times. [volume] (Forrest City, Ark.) 1871-1919, 1913-02-28

rapt his reverie, | started to read
them through again slowly, this time
10 myself, fixing each sentence indel.
IDLY In mind as l proceeded. But be-
iore mad quite come to the end. my
companion was speaking.
Nell2 he said Ard the light
cheeHness Of his tone was not only in
marked contrast with his grave abb
sorption of a moment before. but In
Earring discord with my own present
MOOD. We'll? What do you make of
them"
My annoyance found voice in my re-
Spouse.
Cameron I begged. for Gods
sake be serious. This doesn't seem
TO me exactly a matter to be merry
over don't want TO alarm you, but
somehow l feel that these" and
shook the cracking, wax-like sheets.
that these cannot be utterly ignored"
But they are anonymous" he re-
torted, not unjustly. Anonymous
letters should be burned and forgot
ten"
There are anonymous letters and
anonymous letters" | gave aim back.
IN turn. These are Of an unusually
convincing character. Besides. they
And then / paused. l wished TO
tell him of that elusive encompass
ment OF sinister portent which had so
impressed ne; of that malign forebod-
ing beyond anything warranted by the
words; but l stumbled in the effort at
expression. Besides, started again,
and ended lamely, Il don't like the
look and the feel Of them"
And now he was as serious as
could wish.
Al" he cried, leaning forward
again and reaching for the, letters.
You have experienced il. too. And
you can't explain it, any more than /?
1t is something that grips you when
you read, like an icy hand, hard as
steel, in a glove of velvet. It's al
ways between the lines, reaching out,
and nothing you can do will stay it.
/ thought at first I imagined it, but
the oftener | have read. the more |
have felt its clutch. The letters of
themselves are nothing. What do you
suppose / care for yelled threats of
that sort9 In big enough to take
care OF myself, Clyde. I've met peril
It about every possible guise, in every
part Of the world, and I've never real
y known fear. But this-this is diff
ferent, And the worst OF it is. don't
know why I can't for the life Of NE
make out what it is I'm afraid Of"
He had gone very pale, and his
strong, capable hands, which toyed
with the two letters. quiyered and
twitched in excess Of nervous tension.
Then, with finger pointing to the
ink-stain at the bottom OF one of the
sheets. he asked
What does that look like to you?'
I took the letter from him, and
scrutinizing the rude figure with con-
centrated attention for a moment. ven.
tured the suggestion that it somewhat
resembled a boat.
"A one-masted vessel. square
rugged" he added, in elucidation.
Exactly"
Now turn it upside down"
I did So
Now what do you see?"
The head of man wearin>a hel.
met" The resemblance was very
marked.
"A straw helmet. apparently" he
amplifed, such as is worn in the
Orient. And yet the profile is not that
of an Oriental. Now, look at your YES
sci again" And once more l reversed
the sheet OF paper
Can it be Chinese junk" asked.
1T might be sailing proa or ban
ca" he returned, such as they use in
the South Pacific. But whatever it IS.
I cant understand what it has to do
with ne or | with t."
was still studying the black daub,
when he said:
But you haven't told me about the
handwriting. What can you read Of
the character Of the writer"
Nothing" answered, promptly.
1T is curious penmanship, as you say
heavy and regular and upright, with
some strangely formed letters; es-
/
tells me nothing"
But | thought" he began.
That boasted? So | did. When
one writes as one habitually writes 1t
Is very easy. These letters, however.
are not in the writer's ordinary hand.
The writing is as artificial as though
you, for example, had printed note
in Roman characters Were they adj
dressed in the same hand?"
Precisely"
What was the post-mark?"
They bore no post-mark That is
another strange circumstance Yet
they were with my mail. How they
came there l have been unable to as
certain. The people at the post office
naturally deny that they delivered
anything unstamped. as these were;
( and Barrie. the lad who fetches the
letters, has no recollection Of these
Nor has Checkabeedy, who sorts the