Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1929-07-21

than the last He gulped his down with posi-
tive relish, and grew boisterous as it mounted
to his head Wen drink to all the old gang!
he suddenly exclaimed. Fill your glass;!
"The light came and went as poured again.
The stuffed birds, stiff and motionless on the
shelf made a grotesque audience, looking down
upon us with unseeing buttonlke eyes. Here's
to Jake Sprague! he toasted. Lift your glass;.
He waited for the flash to come again to see II
I had obeyed. And then in the darkness, his
voice suddenly dropped to a cold, menacing
tone DO you know what happened to Jake,
you stuck-up, white-livered skunk? He did
three years before they had to put him in the
hospital ward. His lungs were gone They
let me see him once before he died. Last thing
he says to me, he says, Spike, I'm goner! 7
Listen, Spike, when you get out of here you've
got to get Smith if you swing for 1t. And
when you PUNK the little bastard PUNK him
once for mel" D.. Here's to good old Jake!"
MR. SMITH paused to mop his forehead.
A'A upon which beads of perspiration had
gathered. This memory of his youth was still
very real to him. Can you imagine me in
predicament like that? Can you imagine?"
Frankly, couldn't. 1t seemed too unutter-
ably absurd. With that beard which gave him
an almost academic air. his timid. inquiring
eyes, and his stif11sh, formal speech. He seemed
a harmless creature in a world for harder
spirits.
do look like crook? Do 70" he appealed
TO me again.
You certainly don't" assured him.
IAN this happened nearly 20 years ago. Per-
haps looked different them he went on in
his childlike simplicity. II may even have
resembled that other Smith this fellow was
after. I've often wondered just what points
We may have had in common" He revolved
this enigma in his mind for few moments.
"Of course your guilty start when he called
you Smith seemed to give you away I
pointed out
Perhaps you are right" he said absently.
"But it wasn't guilty start; simply jumped
at the unexpected shout of my name" He
po:ldered this for while. Eyes, it was mis-
leading and most unfortunate" He proceeded
with his story. +, IA
AFTER the toast to the deceased Jake Sprague,
It was the turn of a certain Dickey White.
The bottle again went across the table, and
had to listen to another maudlin eulogy, with
scorching comment upon myself. If had any
last glimmering doubt as to my visitors cold
blooded intentions, it vanished completely. I
wouldn't have believed that any man on earth
could focus upon himself such collective, fiend-
ish hate as this mysterious Smith had been
taken for 1t almost turned me sick. And yet
here's curious thing Like a man put under
sentence of death, once the first shock and
realization of it were over, began to get used
to it, AS those dreadful toastS to my former
pals proceeded. my thoughts steadied.
ct started at last to argue with him. I
wasn't the man he was after. But had come
to my senses too late. for his were gone
thanks to all those drinks of whisky. He was
past the stage where I could reason with him.
He only grew violent and began again to curse.
What in the world would be doing here?'
demanded. Hiding, OF course! he retorted.
But I'm bird collector for the Government
That sounded SO silly to him that he only
laughed. persisted, until he raised his gun.
Shut up! he commanded, or I'll bump you
of now And shut up. My life hung by a
thread, but it was folly to cut that thread.
when he passed the bottle again didn't
dare refuse. poured myself another scant
helping. My mind was struggling desperately
for way out of that awful fix. I'm not what
you'd call a man of action exactly. And mem
tally was all tangled up This was too much
like something one reads about in a book.
Something that doesn't happen-least Of all to
ones self And yet here it was actually hap
pening to me. The reality and yet unreality
of it somehow wouldn't reconcile themselves in
my mind.
But the repeated sight of the muzzle of
that revolver every time there came that blind
ing flare of light was enough to drive me to
any desperate STEP I even considered just
boiling in the dark, but the round table was
of enormous SIZE and it stood between me and
the door. For all his maudlin talk, his right
hand remained like thing apart from himself,
alert and ready. Each time the white flash
swept the room saw the revolver covering me.
He was evidently an old hand at tricks of that
sort. A sudden dash on my part would only
be inviting destruction. If could have
snatched the ugly thing out of his grasp-but
the mere breadth of the table barred so des-
perate chance. Besides. I knew that in a
hand-to-hand struggle I should be no match
for him.
IF only could lay hands on a weapon of
" fairlrr chad Aroi,