The Brattleboro daily reformer. (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1913-1955, 1922-08-24

nHInITmnTTHHTlT lIIllili
La that you are not wholly out Of
sympathy with me.
But whether or not you symDa-
thize, at any rate you ny; want to
know-and want you to know
the exact manner in which Albeit
met his death and the reasons which
made that death necessary. II tia
police have to be told anything, !
would rather that they too knew the
whole story. They, and even you,
may call 1t murder, but by that
time shall be out OF the way. Let
them call it what they like.
'T must begin by taking you back
to a summer day fifteen years ago,
when 7 was boy of thirteen and
Mark young man of twenty-five.
His whole life was make-believe, and
just now he was pretending to be
a philanthropist.
HE sat in our little drawing
room, Ticking his gloves against the
back Of his left hand. and my
mother, good soul, thought what a
noble young gentleman he was, and
Philip and I, hastily washed and
of him. nudging each other and
kicking the backs of our heels and
cursing him in our hearts for hav-
ing interrupted our game.
He had decided to adopt one Of
us, kind Cousin Mark. Heaven
knows why he chose me. Philip
was eleven; two years longer to wait.
Perhaps that was why.
well, Mark educated me. went
to a public school and to Cambridge,
and I became his secretary. Well,
much more than his secretary as
your friend Beverley perhaps has
told you. Mark could never live
alone. There must always be some
body to listen to him. I think in
his heart he hoped I should be his
Boswell. He told me one day that
he had made me his literary execu-
tor-poor devil. And he used to
write me the absurdest long letters
when I was away from him, letters
which read once and then tore up.
The futility Of the mani
''It was three years ago that Philip
got into trouble. He had been hur-
ried through cheap grammar
school and into London office, and
discovered there that there was not
much fun to be got in this world on
two pounds a week. had frantic
letter from him one day, saying that
he must have hundred at once, or
he would be ruined, and I went to
Mark for the money.
"OnIy to borrow It, you under.
stand; he gave me a good salary and
I could have paid it back in three
months. But no. He saw nothing
for himself in it, suppose; no APP
plause, no admiration. Philips
gratitude would be to me, not to
him
ST begged, threatened, we al
gued; and while we were arguing.
Philip was arrested. It killed my
mother-he was always her favorite
but Mark, as usual, got ais salts
faction out of it He preened him.
self on his Judgment of character
in having chosen me and not Philip
twelve years before!
Later on I apologized to Mark for
the reckless things l had said to
him, and he played the part Of
magnanlmous gentleman witt his
accustomed skill, but, though out
wardly we were as before to each
other, from that day forward, though
his vanity would never let him see
it, was his bitterest enemy.
eff that had been all, wonder IL
I should have killed hin7 To live
on terms of intimate friendship with
man whom you hate is dangerous
work for your friend. Becluse of
his belief in me as his admirlng and
grateful protege and his belief in
himself as my benefactor, he was
now utterly in my power. could
take my time and choose my oppor-
tunity. Perhaps I should not have
killed him, but / had sworn 20 have
my revenge-and there he wsss, poor
vain fool. at my mercy. was In
no hurry.
1.-TWO years later I had to recon
slider my position, for my revenge
was being taken out OF my hands.
Mark began to drink. Could 1 have
stopped him? I don't think s.. but
to my immense surprise found
myself trying to. Instinct, perhaps,
getting the better of reason; 1r did
I reason it out and tell myself that,
If he drank himself to death, I should
lose my revenge? Upon my word,
cannot tell you; but, for whatever
motive. did genuinely want to stop
it. Drinking Is such beastly thing,
anyhow.
Continued in Our Next Issue)