Omaha daily bee., 1918-11-20
He heard Maria's voice dimly:
Take him home"

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Take him home"
A hand touched his arm. With q
supreme effort of will he walked
from the room, guided by the hand
on his arm. And always his brain
recorded fewer and fewer impress.
sions for his. memory to struggle
with later.
At the cloak room some on helped
him put on his coat. He was walk
ing down steps. He was in some
kind of a conveyance. He didn't
know what it was. An automobile
carriage, train? He didn't know
He only understood that it went
swiftly. swaying from side to side
through a sable pit. Whenever his
mind moved at all it came back to
that sensation of black pit in which
he remained suspended, swinging
from side to side, trying to struggle
up against impossible odds. Once or
twice words flashed like fire through
the pit: "Tyraht!-Fool to 60"
From a long immersion deeper
in the pit he struggled frantically.
He must get out Somehow he must
find wings. He realized that his
eyes were closed. He tried to open
them and failed. So the pit per-
sisted and he surrendered himself,
as one accepts death, to its hateful
sblackness.
Abruptly he experienced a momen-
tary release There was no more
swaying. no more movement of any
kind. He heard a strange, melan-
choly voice, whispering without
words, always whispering with a
futile perseverance as if it wished
him to understand something it could
not express.
What is it trying to tell me-"
he asked himself.
Then he understood. 1t was the
voice of the wind and vt tried to
tell him to open his eyes, and he
found that he could. But in spite
of his desire they closed again, al
most Immediately. Yet. from that
swift glimpse, a picture outlined it
self later in his memory.
In the midst of wild, rolling
clouds. the moon was a drowning
face. Stunted trees bent before the
wind like puny men who strained
impotently to advance. Over there
was one more like real mana
figure, Bobby thought, with a black
thing over its face-a mask.
This is the forest near the
Cedars," Bobby said to himself
I've come to face the old devil al
ter all"
He heard his own voice, harsh, re-
mote, unnatural, speaking to the dim
figure with a black mask that waited
half hidden by the straining trees.
why am | here in the woods
near the Cedars?" And he thought
the thing answered:
Because you hate your grand
father"
Bobby laughed, thinking hA I'M
derstood. The figure in the Black
mask that accompanied him was his
conscience. He could understand
why it went masked.
The wind resumed its whispering.
The figures, straining like puny men,
fought harder. The drowning face
disappeared, wet and helpless. Bobby
felt himself sinking back. back into
the sable pit.
II don't want to CO." he moaned.
A long time afterward he heard a
whisper again, and he wondered
if it was the wind or his conscience.
He laughed through the blackness
because the words seemed so abb
surd.
Take off your shoes and carry
them in your hand, Always do that.
1t is the only safe way"
He laughed again, thinking:
What a careful consciencep
He retained only one more i'm
preston. He was DULY aware that
some time had passed. He shivered.
He thought the wind had grown
angry with him, for it no longer
whispered. 1t shrieked, and he could
make nothing of its wrath. He
struggled frantically to emerge from