The interior journal. [volume] (Stanford, Ky.) 1912-1984, 1915-01-29

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den, rather well satisfied with himself.
But Zudora's love was like shield.
The barb bounded Off harmlessly. John
Storm was a clean man in thought and
In life. She had not passed through
this peculiar schooling Of hers without
being able to read between the lines
She was absolutely certain that love
| could not blind her to any defects In
John. All Hassam Ali accomplished by
his innuendo was to enlarge that
! smoldering suspicion which was ever
in her heart.
A good many of us are nearsighted
mentally. 1t Is easier to judge things
In the distance than close at hand.
While the general world knew that
Hassam Ali was a miser, Zudora was
quite ignorant of the fact. Had she
definitely known of his inordinate love
| Of gold, her subsequent miseries might
have been avoided to some extent.
Storm went south Immediately. The
home was simple and comfortable.
There were two or three bits of an
tique furniture which had been saved
from the wreck. 1t was night when he
arrived. The country railway station
had, with its usual nOndescript crowd
Of idlers, witnessed his arrival, and
the news travelled quickly. He regret
ted that he had not come secretly and
gone about his investigations unob-
served. But the damage was done and
| proved cOnclusively that he was not
cut out for detective.
He was greeted fondly by his par
ents, and they repeated with elabora-
tons what had been recounted to him
in the letter. 1t was downright serious,
no laughing matter. The help were de-
| claring that the mystic hand was the
warning Of the worlds end. Not few
Of the poorer class of white folk were
accepting the hoax as serious affair.
Some of the negroes were even going
so far as to kneel down to the hand
from a safe distance) and intone
prayers.
"Humphr' muttered Storm. at want
good look at this thing. And some
one Is going to get a rafting good
kicking before 1 go back to town Why
the dickens should they pick out our
bill for their tomfooleryT'
Father says it's because some one
has a grudge against the family" said
his mother.
"Piffler
IAN imaginary grievance" she added.
who could possibly have grudge
against you two. who have done every
| thing to make life decently worth
while to the help?'
you never can TELL" said old Mr..
Storm, digging into his pocket for his
pipe.
What time does it generally ap-
pearT'
"Oh, any time between shutdown and
midnight
"All right I'll take shotgun and
go hunting for Mr.. Ghost this very
night" Storm declared wrathfully.
But he wasted his time. Also the
night following nothing came Of his
vigil. The third night be was called
to the door In time to see the hand
flicker for a moment and then vanish
He rushed toward the hill. but found
nothing. He began to grow very
angry. He admitted, the little time he
saw ii, that it was grewsome enough
1t was eight or ten feet in height. with
shadow in the palm like an embed
ded bullet Subconsciously he seemed
to recognize something vaguely famil-
lar about the shape of the hand.
He did not go into the village, but
prowled around In the vicinity where
the hand appeared most frequently
There was no evidence of phosphor-
essence, no footprints except those
made by the negroes some two or
three hundred yards below the hill
John was puzzled and irritated at the
same time. This joke was being per
petrated by some one who had brains
Meanwhile the crops lay ungathered
and were beginning to rot in the fields.
Something must be done in a hurry,
else he would be compelled to send to
the city for emigrants, who would
doubtless take to their heels after the
same manner as the negroes. So he
telegraphed for Zudora.
And Zudora came.
The Storm family had heard about
her. you may be assured. But until
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