The Washington herald., 1915-12-19

- snuckS, We don't belleVe IN
ghosts! Nobody does. Imag-
ination, Silly.
~ Nobody believes in ghosts.
That's why Oberlin, classic
village two hours out of Cleveland, is
treading lightly these days. It's why
staid professors and students who are
not staid, maids, matrons and boy
scouts are passing over time-of-day
amenities to meet with raised brows and
silence. It's why no afternoon tea, no
midnight spread. no simple coming to-
gether outside a classroom door holds
forth more than a mitute without CONVEX
sation on Things We Can't Explain. And
it's why the old Evans home, on Elm ST..
is about as unpopular as anything could
be. especially after nightfall and when
the wind blows
The Evans home has weathered the
stress of time. Almost directly opposite
the G. Frederick Wright place and next
door to Professor George Hastings, it's
been a landmark for thirty years.
Changes have raced up and down the
street; students have come and gone;
the pine round by the side door has shot
from twig to tree ever SO much higher
than the chimneys. Still the crumbling
bricks cling together; the tottering
cornices support the sagging roof. The
Evans home is old-very old.
We don't believe in ghosts-mercy no!
We don't believe in shrieks that como
out of thin air and nothing but air; we
don't believe in disembodied telegraph
codes nor in fire that burns blue and
doesn't scorch what it burns Silly! The
Evans home is old. That's probably why
the windows rattle dismally for no rea-
son at all; why chill, dark air blows
through the rooms and why doors swing
aimlessly to and fro. It's probably be-
l.. ,-;at4 Skot
the boards creak suddenly. AS for the
lights-well!
Nobody in Oberlin believes In ghosts.
1T-whatever 1T Is that's been spookinG
around in the wing Of the Evans house
can be explained, of course. Mayor ].
d. Yocom and his own special sleuth, Mr..
Jack wainwright, have explained 1T.
Head of the college psychology depart
ment, Professor Raymond H. Stetson, has
explained and SO has Professor George
Hastings, who shot 1T one night. Even
Misses Edith and Agnes Dixon. who live
in the house, have explained. YET 1T
gambols on. Just won't be downed; laid,
as 1t were. 1T is an Independent and
persevering circumstance.
The Evans house, built when space
rather than even temperature was the
thing, rambles. 1t is three-storied; with
long, staring windows and an attic which
verandas with white, spectral pillars
under moss-grown roofs. There's wing
at the back where windows shrink under
ewes, half hidden by the ragged. distorted
pine tree. The wing is isolated. Like
the attic, it might harbor anything. But
we don't believe in ghosts.
"of course said Professor Hastings.
1--WE don't believe in ghosts
"Of course not" l agreed.
Anyway why should there be a ghost
in the old Evans home? 1t was built
years ago y thirty years ago and
nothing extraordinary ever happened
there. The Evans family moved away
and the house has been rented. The
Dixon sisters rent it. Nice quiet life they
live. Nothing fantastic. No ghosts"
The Dixon sisters are librarians at the
Oberlin Conservatory of Music. They
moved up from Wellington about five
years ago. 1t was last July, soon after
NELL" the maid. became a member of
their household that 1T became active.
''Nell'' is from Michigan and colored
Once, so whispers rumor, romance
wobbled into her life. But twas for
only little time. Romance gathered
unto herself wings and flew away even
as the man (also colored) of Nell's
heart was gathered unto his fathers more
or less III "IcSh.
Then Nell came to Oberlin
Mice quiet life they live" said Pro-
fessor Hastings. Wouldn't know they
were there but for the knocking. Tap,
tap, Every night All night. Tap.
tap, What is it? well
For the purpose of discovering what
1t is Professor Hastings ventured forth
one night. He ventured forth softly,
slithering through shadows that lie dark
and dismal between his own dooryard
and the haun-that is the house. In his
hand he carried gun. Preparedness is
a wonderful thing.
TAP, tap!"
"Hah!" challenged the professor.
Tap, tap" 1t was as though invisible
fingers raped out message from the
realms of over There. Steadily it went
on, deviating only as the taps were long
or short. Sometimes it seemed that the
phantom fingers barely caressed material
things; again they surely moved to anger,
fercely and heavily.
"Hah!"
"Tap, tap"
"Cr-r-r-rk," A bullet spoke.
Silence More silence.
"Ah-ha," meditated the professor.
"'Twas a practical joke and I've
frightened away the perpetrator!"
whereupon he retired to his house and
bed.
"Tap-tap! Tai