The Clio messenger. (Clio, Mich.) 1907-current, 1914-03-20


lashes half-veiled her dark eyes AZ
they wavered to Calls, then back
again to him; 1t was a covert, all-ap.
praising glance. Then her lips curled
scornfully.
What was passing in her mind was
only too plain to Van Vechten. He
flushed holly. Already he had made
the same comparison; and he fostered
no illusions respecting the possible
outcome of a combat.
Never before had he been confront
ed by any man so irresponsible with
rage, or one with whom 1t was SO
hopeless to attempt to reason; never
in all his life had he struck a man In
anger; but he knew there was just one
way In which he could succor this dis
dainful beauty, and that would be to
| pit his endurance against the bully's
strength, to guard himself as much as
possible against his repeated on
slaughts. and delay pursuit OF the girl
until he wan Vechten) was pounded
into insensibility-or mayhap slain. He
did not blink that contingency. Yet,
without the slightest hesitation, he
had resolved to offer himself to the
, sacrifice.
He was guilty of no error Of judg-
ment now, however; Calls gave him
but scant time to reflect, then rushed.
not at him, but at the girl. Simultane-
ously Van Vechten plunged headlong
forward, interposing his lighter body
between.
Amid the stress and confusion OF
violent situations, the human mind Is
capable of the most ridiculous pranks.
tens prompted him to commit such an
absurdity.
Get out of here, you little idiot"
he yelled at the girl, who seemed
frozen to the table.
She hesitated one second longer,
then, with a stified scream, slipped in
to the hall and closed the door after
her.
1t would not be pleasant to record
what happened in that room. There is
nothing heroic in a baited rat darting
desperately from a trap into the jaws
of a waiting terrier nor In the spec
tacle OF lamb being prodded to the
shambles. For perhaps five minutes
Van Vechten succeeded in preventing
Calls from grasping the door-knob-
a period in which he was reduced from
a correctly dressed, rather handsome
young gentleman to an object that was
no more than a tattered, bloody sem
blance of humanity-and then he sank
into oblivion.
Calls stared at his motionless ad-
versary. Why didn't the fool move
The answer came promptly, unbidden:
Because he couldn't. He would never
move again, unless, perchance, 1t
should be to rise up and follow him
out of the room. along the echoing
halls. down the dusty stairs, into the
street; whithersoever he went, turn
and double, twist and dodge, there
would be that Thing at his side, until
at last
And there was yet another shadow
in this silent house, one other fear.
some shade; suppose It should detach
itself from the rest; suppose the two
shadows should get together and enter
into an unholy pact to work his undo
ing?
John Calls clenched his teeth to
stop their chattering. His starting
glance skirted the room and sought to
penetrate the shadows. which every
minute were looming larger and larger
and more obscure, then was irresisti
bly, drawn back to the shapeless
blurred heap In the corner He did
not look away from 1t again.
Swallowing convulsively. licking his
dry lips with dry tongue. he backed
noiselessly, step by step, until he
brought up against the door. Never
for an instant did the horrible dread oil
the two shadows blending and follow
ing HIM pause in its unnerving sug
gestion.
He felt for the knob like one in q
nightmare. Finding it, he stealthily
opened the door and skunk away.
(TO BE CONTINUED)