SHORT STORIES.

Dominion, Volume 1, Issue 1, 26 September 1907, Page 12

SHORT STORIES.

A ROMANCE OF CROSS PURPOSES. In a moro robust ago, when the world was younger and less polite, Barbara would havo brosen tho hearts of Emperors, provoked wars between great nations, and nltored tlio map of Europe. In the effete twontieth contury slie ; morely arrogates to herself the admiration that should, properly, bo shared amon ghalf a county full of girls; is adored—moro or less openly—by all the men she knows, and hated moro or less frankly—by most of tho women. I have beon an onlooker in many of her affairs of thß heart, or rathor her affairs of othor people's hearts. As an onlooker perhaps I liavo seen most of tho garno; at any rate, I count it an excuse for my "existence that she calls me her friencl and asks my advice—not of courso meaning to follow it.

I was sitting in my garden smoking,' and not reading the paper, ono morning when Bajbava came in and sa tdown. on the grass by tho sido of my chair. Sho sighed twice without speaking. Barbara always prefers other people to start the conversation. Afterwards, as a rule, she attends to it thoroughly.

" Hadn't you better tell mo all about it?" I remarked.-

"I am so unhappy," she began. "I have never been so unappy before."

"Surely," I exclaimed in somo concorn, "you are not iu love, Barbara?" " No," indignantly. "Ia munhappy for somebody else."

" Toll me," I commanded, and Barbara settled down to a full outpouring of her sorrows.

"lis Bobbie," sho begnn. Now if thero is one among my friends less Unworthy than tho rest to lovo and bo loved by Barbara, Bobbio is tho man. Equally with her, he makes the confidan- of his troubles—so I listened eagerly for further revelations "1 can tell you becau.so you aio a f'ioiul of his," said Barbara. "Tho silly boy has fallen in lovo with me." Sho paused dramatically. . " Quite right and proper," I observed judicially. "That loaves only tho policomau ami the butcher boy in tho village who haven't."

"It's nothing to bo funny about," said Barb u'a, and T could seo she was really serious. " \ r ou know 1 like him. He's the dearest boy and. perfectly adorable. But J don't: like—in that way. And it's so ridiculous of him and inconsiderate."

I nodded sympathetically. "But what can I do? If I go to a dnnco, he's there. Ho turns up at every tennis parLy*'within twenty miles that I go to. If I go anywhere for a weekend, ho travels by te same train."

" Perhaps bo'll get over it," I suggosted hopofnliy. "Other men have, you know." Barbara sook her head. " He's going to proposo,' 'shp said despondontly. And thou when I've refused him, of courso, things will never bo tho samo again. Ho won't bo able to forget and neither Biiall I. And we ve had the very jolliest times together. "Aro you sure ho'll proposo?" " Ho's certain to. He tried tho -other night. It was.at tho Warrens'! I was very tired, and in a weak moment sat out a danco wit him in the consei'vatory. It was a lovoly place—l'd found it t.hreo dancos beforo with Captain Jackson—and so long as Bobbie was Content to sit and flirt quietly like an ordinary man ,it was jolly. But ho got serious, and said ' Barbara' two or three times-as if ho was speaking out of his boots. Then ho go hold of my hand, and as I saw a proposal written all over his fnce (Barbara is thoroughly conversant with the symptoms) I got up quickly and said rathor ncrvoußly: 'I think you had better tako mo bhek to my chaperone."'

(Barbara rollod this out with indesuribable relish. She so seldom uses one!) ! , ( " But, unless you can help me, it s only postponed," she went on dismally. "If ho doesn't do it this afternoon alter tea, he'll do it- to-morrow after the tennis tournament."

"How can I help you?" I exclaimed in dismay. "I can't tell him "

"Not tell him," pursued Barbara insinuatingly. "Oh no, just, give him a hint. I'm sure you can do it, Arthur, you aro so diplomatic and so—go discreet."

"I won't," I declared flatly.' And vet when half-au-hour later Barbara' loft me ts my pleasantly disturbed smoke, such is the weakness oi my nature, or the strength of hers, that I was pledged to administer in the shape of a gilded pill the information thai "uy poor friend Bobbie's passion was U hupeb-ss one. It that same day, I remember, ''tjiat Bobbie dropped in unexpectedly to .-on uiu. It was after lunch, and I was in the garden again.

" Now for it," I groaned as 1 saw him Coming down the path, and 1 groaned 'igain as he settled himself not two inches from the. spot Uu i"j;U'a had occupied in the morning.

"lou're looking rather cheap, Robert, i ventured.

"Fee! it, old chap," ho responded shortly. "Fact is, I'm worried." "Perhaps 1 can help you,"] remarked, feeling that things wero being made easy for ine.

"1 believe you could if jou would," be said slowly. "iiave you iwtimi something—ei—rather strange about Barbara lately?" "No-o," I said doubtfully. "I believe, you have. Look here, old man. I'll- tell you what I mean without any beating about tho hush. You know I'm not a conceited sort of a chap, or anything like that, but it's just this, I'm afraid the poor little girl is falling in lovo with me." I whistled. Bather vulgar perhaps and not very appropriate, but words failed ino.

"I'm afraid so," Bobbie repeated. "Of course, she's the jolliest little girl in the world, and I like her awfully, but Ihe fact is she's not my stylo, and I can't— can't—" lie hesitated.

"Reciprocate," I suggested. "That's it," ho said. "And it's so horribly awkward. Wherever 1 go, she goes, i met her at teas, tennis-parties, and week-ends. Then at tho Warrens's tho other night, we were siting out in tlie conservatory. She kneiv the place evidontly, and—well, old man, I suddenly found her hand iu mine—mind, i don't say she actually put it there, I don't say that—but well, I think she expected me to propose to her—and—l didn't. I felt an awful cad when she stood up and said in a quiiky little voice: 'I think you had better tako me back to my chaperonc!"' "H'm," I said.

"Now, you know her so well," ho pursued, "she talks to you so freely—l know she does for she's told mo—that you might " "Givo her a hint, oh?" I said rather snappishly. "Well, why not? Think of all the pain it would savu us both. I should hate to inako the poor little girl miserable." "Bobbie, my boy," I said, "you ask no light tiling. Yet such is my friendship for you—for you both, in fact—that t will see what can bo done."

"You're a brick, old man," he muttered huskily as he wrung my hand. I think I noticed a tear in his oye as ho turned away and hurried down the path.

I saw Barbara again a day or two later, and I told her I had spoken the word of wisdom to Bobbie, and that he had said she was not to worry; that ho hoped time would heal oven a heart lacerated as his.

"How splendid of him!" she said softly, and a tear fell into tho middle of a pink geranium she was wearing. "I wish " she began. "What do you wish?" I asked, and I couldn't help smiling a little. "I wish," she repeated. "Oh nover mind—and it's perfectly horrid of you to be amused."

"By tho way, Bobbie," I Baid next time ! found him alone. " I had a chat with Barbara tho other day. She wants me to tell you not to worry—that she quite understands and that it needn't malco any difference. SIIO wants toii still to be friends with her."

"Poor little girl," ho murmured sentimentally. "Poor little—" he broke off savagely. "Oil, yes, it's very funny, I know," and threw himself violently out of the room. I suppose I must have smiled.

I didn't see quite so much as usual of Barbara or Bobbie during tho weeks that followed. Nor did they, so far as I could make out, see quite so much of oach other. But at last sho camo to see mo looking quite unlike her usual radiant sell, and slie actually began the conversation. "Bobbie seems to be looking very ill lately, don't you think?" "ite does," 1 said shortly. "Is it—" she began, and paused. "I'm afraid so," I roplied. Tie always seems so depressed nnd wrctchcd nowadays." ~ "I wish I could do something, said Barbara, earnestly. "Do you think if I saw him and talked to him, it would cheer him up?" "Wouldn't that be rather dangerous? Besides, tho wound ought to be nearly healed by now. It would bo cruel to open it again." . "I am not so sure, said Barbara, with an entire lack of logic. "And do you know, I don't think you can have given him that hint very diplomntic,illy—and I particularly asked you to bo verv kind and careful. , . Did I hear you say anything?" " Kr—nothing particular, I said, hastily. "Well, I believe you wero horrid to him, and I'm going to sit out twono, three dances with him at the Warrens's to-night and be awfully nice to him, just to make up. And I don't care if it opens tho wound again or not. So thero." I made a point of seeing Bobbie quite casually that afternoon. Aftor saying the usual things about tho weather, I broaohed my subject. "Barbara isn't looking half tho girl she was. Seen her lately?" Bobbie scowled. "Yes. And I must say, old chap, it seems to nie that you must havo been beastly clumsy over what T asked you to tell her. . . . Well, you needn't swear.- Of course, I don't doubt you did your boßt." " It was a ticklish job." "That's 110 excuse for being brutal, and I can't bear to think of her feeling wretched about, it. I'm going to the Warrons's to-night, and if she's thero I'm going to dance as many daucos with her as she'll givo mo."

"An excellent idea," I observed, " Aud don't forget tho conservatory."

I wont to tho Warrens's, and I danced ono dance with Barbara early in tho evening, which was only half mv usual allowance. I hardly saw her awn, or Bobbie either, for the matter of that, till people were going home. Then lie was arranging her in her carriage. Quite unaccountably he shook hands with me as if I were a long lo~t millionaire uncle. Barbara blushed, looked the other way, and quite refused to speak to me: but this 1 understood when Bobbie came round next morning to tell 1110 that 1 wis to be (by hot special request) stage manager of a certain important function looming in the near future. — Arthur Graham in " Jf.A.P."

UNCLE JOE'S TRACT.

"Nobby Clark," explained. Private Smith of the Anehester llegiment, "lias got an uncle who's fairly good. Ho keeps a ham find beef shop in Lcwisham High Bond, anil naturally, being a. bit well oil', can afford to bo eccentric." "He's a very fine old chap," said Smithy warmly. "If 'o gets a side of bticon that's gone off, or a tub of butter a bit high, do you tliinlc he throws it away? Not he. He gives it to the pore. Smithy glowed. , , . "Ho sends Nobby lots of letters of advico and tracks, and sometimes he slips in half a dollar in stamps, ls always anxious to get his uncle s letters, but I've laiown him to liavo a j slice ol bad luck for six letters runnin . "One mornin' the po6tman brought a fat letter in. 'Private Clark, lio goz, and Nobby nipped along the barrackroom, but his face fell wlion ho isaw how fat tho letter was. , " 'It's a bit too heavy to bo any good, he si' 7, very bitter, and weighiu the letter in his hand; 'if this is another Straight Talk to Enriuinu' burners. Smithy, something will 'ave to be lio tore open the letter very caroiul an took out a printed paper, "i r.ick, hese/. bitterly, 'a track about drmkui an (luarrellin'.' "Then ho took out another paper. " 'Track,' he scss bitterer than ever, a track about smoidn'.' "Then ho took out another paper. " "Tra—' lie stopped, 'no it ain't—here Smitliv what's this?" Nobby was all 01 a tremble, an' so was i, tor u it wasn't a fiver, a real white crinkly hver, I've never seen one. ) "Nobby was quite shook up, an so was 1. tl '•'omilliy,' sez Nobby, his voice all broke, 'pick up them beautiful tracks that mv dr-ar Uncle Joe sent mo.' " "1 can't, Nobby,' I sez, 'you chucked 'em on the fire.' . ■"Did I—did I?" sez Nobby, horror a;ruck, 'did 1 throw away my dear nude's tracks—did I burn them lovely words—oil, horrr-iv!' i

"Then one of the follors chipped in. " m! M'mpiiy'.i fc'nf !.!r.' oao about (irir.k: V : weired it out of the fireplneo, Nobliv,' lie "Nobby stood lnokin' fit the banknote, r.yiniliu'" it'an' lot-king at the watermark. ••■iijr.id Murphy's tcot ".0 right to mr ,l»ar iiiifk' s bu! liv's widramc t" it. 1 only 'ope,' Nobby vent 011 very jrtifinin, 'lhat'the words in that theretrack will iio him good.'' Precious Literature. "Thorn was a letter aloug with' the other -roods, and Nobby read it. "\Uv (ii-ar nephew,' road Nobby. 'This ceines liopin' to iind you—urn—lllll —uin. J am glad to hear you go regularly to —11in —iun, but cim sorry to hear you are ashamed to' go to the meotin's because you've got no money to put in the plate. . . . Can quite understand it. . ... , I don't sso why you siiould.waic till I die before getting some of my money, so as a reward. . . I inn semlui' you ten pounds.' "'What,' I sex, an' Sdbby road, it again. "Ten pound,' ho sc;;,. an puileti the banknote out of his, pocket examine it. it was Tivo' right ohoiigii us plain as plain. 'I promise to pay, etc. """Dear uncle's made a mistake,' sez Nobby, all trembly, 'cr elbfl the other live is co 111 in' on.' He turned the envclopo inside out, but there way nothin' in it. " 'Uo on Willi the letter, I cez. . Ten pounds,' read Nobby, slowly, ' but certain persons bavin' said j that you don't read my little tracks ' Nobby stopped and went white. '"Go on,' suz I. . , " 'Certain persons havin said you don't read my tracks nor my letters either, • I—have—put—the—other—five pound ' "Nobby sort of collapsed on to the nearest bed cot. "'Where?' I sez. ."'Between the last two pages of the track on drink an' quarrollin',' he sez, in a holler voice. "I tell you," said Smithy, seriously, "it shook me an' Nobby up a bit, but bimeby Nobby pulls liissolf together and iurups up. 'Smithy,' ho sez, 'that low teller Spud has got my dear uncle's track "wot he sent to me —I want, to read that track; it'll do me moro good than Spud. Where is he?' "Then somebody said he'd seen Spud going over to the eanteon, so me an Nobby run as hard as we could to find him. "Sure enough tliero he was, but our 'carts went down into our nanibcr nines when wo saw him—he was sittin' by hisself drinking lemonade and looked v'crv sad. "'Chcer-o, Spud,' sez Nobby, ma chokin' voice. 'Jlow goes it? What arfl you drinkin'?' "Spud shook his head sorrerfnlly. " 'I've given up the cursed drink,' he sez in a humble voice. '"Since when?' sez Nobby, very loud. 'Since when, you low hypocrite?' "Spud didn't take no offence. He onlv sighed. " 'Since reading your dear Uncle Joo's track,' ho sez. " 'Spud,' sez Nobby, droppin' his voice an' chakin' Spnd by the hand, 'Spud, you mako me feel ashamed of mcself. Perhaps I ought to give it up too; perhaps them beautiful words might be the makin' of me; lot's have a look at my uncle's track wot I lent you ' "'Wot you chucked away,' sez Spud, very gentle. '"Wot happened to slip out of my hand an' was picked up by a low thief who happened to bo passin',' sez Nobby, very ferocious, but managod to get his self under control again; 'so, therefore, dear Spud, let mo have a dekko at tjiem lovely words.'

" 'I haven't quite finished with it yet/ sez Spud, sippin' his lemonade- and smacking Ms lips. 'This is the stuff to drink, Ivobliy. If I'd read your uncle's track, earlier I might have been pounds in yoeket.' Nobby's Appeal. . "I thought Nobby would have a fit. lie got red in the face an' ho gnashed his teeth.

" 'Spud,' he sez after a bit, 'Spud, old feller, are you goin' to see a comrado continuo on what I might call the down grade without raisin' a hand to help him. And any way,' he went on, gettin' wilder and wilder, 'it's my bloomin' ttrack; it was sent to me by my dear Uncle Joe, an' if you don't 'and it over, I'll give you a wipe on the jaw.' "All the fellers in the canteen began to gather round on tho off chance of a fight.

" 'Wot's up Nobby?' ecz Fatty Green, a very nice young feller with a curly head.

" 'This perishing recruit's got a track of mine,' roars Nobby, pullin' off his coat,''a beautiful track about drinkin' and quarrellin', an' won't 'and it over, so I'm goin' to knock his 'cad off.'

" 'Givo the man his track,' sez Fatty, who was an on teetotaller, an 1 all tho other fellers said the same.

"Things looked u bit rough-housish when suddenly the bugle mounded ori for 'orderly men,' an' Nobby staggered back. " 'That's me,' he sez, a;r' I felt sorry for him. In a manner of speakin' ho was tore between Wo an' duty, as the song soz. " 'Smithy,' he whispers to mo,'l've got to go and draw the groceries; keep your eyo on this blighter an' don't let him out of yonr sight.'

"When Nobby had gone I sez to Spud: 'Spud, mo lad—l want a few words with you.'

" "Ave 'em here,' soz Spud, sippin' his lemonade, but T took his arm an' walked him down to the back field, where tliero was nobody about.

" 'Spud,' I sez kindly, "and over Nobby's uncle's track.' "Tor why?' sea Spud, looking around for someone to take his part. '"It'you ain't enough of n gentleman to understand that when a feller gets private track fro'ii his uncle ho don t want nobody else to read it. I eniv't explain,' I sez. Just then Nobby enmo ruunin' back from the parade ground, 'avin' got another feller to draw the groceries. "'Come on,' he sez, an' so wo gavo Spud a number two ju-jitsu push. "'You 'old his legs. Smithy,' siv, Nobby, who was sittin' on Spud's 'e.id; 'r.ow,' you. mouldy 'ighwny robber, Where's that track?' " 'J.enimo get up,' sez fond, strugglin', but Nobby went carefully through his pockets. "'Here it is,' ho yells, -ir' milis nnr. fho paper. Sure enough, snug between the last two leaves was the other fiver. "'J'll report this,' sez Spud, when we let him up. "'Do,' sez Nobby, very cheerful,'do.'" —"Daily Mail," London.

THE CRACK IN THE WAINSCOT.

Dr. Woulfo was rathor surprised to hear that Colonel Caffyn was waiting to seo him j lie was still more surprised at the Colonel's demeanour when tho door was closed on them both in the consisting room. " You'll excuse me, Woulfo," Eaid the visitor, " but I think that that is an edition of Herodotus upon your shelves." Tho Doctor said it was; and his visitor stepped across the room and touk a volume down. Ho opened it at rasdom, and to Woulfe's growing amazement road in tho Greek a passage from one of tho battles of Cyrus. Ho then stiHy translated it and returned tho book to the shelves. "Now then," said he, "tell me, Woulfo, do I strike you as. a man iu possesion of all his faculties?" "Well," began the Doctor, silencing a doubt as to 'whether his visitor had been affected by the Mat, "yon c&n read Greek better than I could years ago." "Awl now feel my puise i" As tho Doctor took his neighbour's wrist, lie glanced more attentively at his lace. "Cailyn," he remarked, "vou seem to have had a very tad night. What's wrong with you;" "Not night," said tho Colonel, '"nights." "Sleeplessness?" "Not sleepltssness. 1 think 1 know the symploms of sleeplessness ;:.s v, ill as any man who has spent most oi' his life in India. 13ut this is neither nerves nor liver. What I want you to assure me is that it's not brain. I read the Hcrodohis just now to show you that in daylight, at any rate, 1 can see clearly and think clearly. At night 1 aril haunted." The Colonel paused, apparently _ to aliow the Doctor-to e.'Lpress incredulity. Hut as the Doctor said nothing he went, on—'"'Thftre was a story when 1 wan a child that the Chantry House w;ik haunter]— or rather had been haunted, lint that .was .-.aid to v- bi'tMi quite :v uarm , ' lc '-" ghost who used \o Ufk about thn iiusj.ig."o and play with the children, until my great-grandmother, a r-aligiorts i'diiwn, had become scaprlaliwxl iin-\ hau oegged thi! Bishop of Dorclirster to come .111(1 bless tlso house. Then the gluist •lisajipcared; ai any rate v.e ciukhvn never saw aiiytbing of it."

Dr. Woulfe could not restrain a smile. 'You don't mean to say the playful ihost has reappeared?"

"It has acquired very nnoßr notions of •ilayfiiltic.ss now," rejoined Colonel L'aftvn, and then went rather white. "I v.n'feel it now," lie said, "there's no tjjiiy about it. A week ago I novo! from the south side of the house iio:auso tho workmen woke me in the morning; nnrl I thought it better to suffer some inconvenience rather than May the alterations that ought to have icon finished before I came home. So 1 had mv bed put up in the room which ,tscd lo be the housekeeper s room on tho ground floor. It looks over the kitihen garden towards tho brook. There's ■nithinc else about the room except tiiat it's rather damp." "An old room?" "Yc« it's one where the wainscot is still left. I will tell you about the wainscot presently. I first slept in tho room on Tuesday night. Nothing happened. I got home latfr —in fact, it was becauso 1 expected to get to bed late that I ordered a bed to be made up In tho Oak Eooin, for I didn't want to be wakened hv tho workmen in the morning: Well, nothing happened, .»:.;ept that 1 did not sleep very well; but that might have been because I bad been dining out. Next night I went to bod early, and dropped off to sleep be,'pro eleven. I left a light burning. Some time in .the night I woke up—no, I won't sivcar I woke up, but I'll tell you what happened."

"What yon thought happened?" "Put it that way if you like. The light appeared to waver, and the panel of wainscot on which it was shining to grow dim. I noticed that the light just caught tho edge of a long crack of the panel.. I shut my eyes again. Then something happened. The crack in the wainscot seemed to widen. I felt some presonco in the room. I tried to open my eyes; but I had that feeling, sometimes felt in dreams, that the power to do so was goi'o. Then something tightened about my throat and grew tighter. I felt that I was choking; and all tho time I was conscious of some infernal agency that was the cause of it. It was as if tha room were crammed with somo presence that was expanding until it crushed the breath out of me. My eve* were open now, but there was no light. Tho on mile had gone out." "You saw nothing, then?"

"Saw? No, I saw nothing. It was tho pressure of something I could not see that—well, any way, 1 struggled to get to tho door. I found myself at the shutters, and got them oneu. Tho faint light from outside pulled me together; but I was cold with sweat. I'm not going to make any attempt to conceal it. I had been as frightened 16 we are when wo are children and wa'ho up with nightmare. It's, like nothing. else."

Tho Doctor waited; the. speaker had evidently not finished.

"That's only the beginning of it. I put it down, as I say, to a nightmare of a virulent type;, but I hadn't the nerve to shut the window again. I spent the, rest of the night dozing and waking with starts. However, my outbreak of nerves seemed feeble enough when I was up and dressed; and any idea I might havo had of moving out of the room simply seemed ridiculous. So I slept there on Thursday night. Again I went tired.to bed; and without a flutter of nervousness dropped off to sleep as soon as I was in bed. Then again—no, not the same thing—something else happened. My eyes opened to the candlo shining on tiie crack in the wainscot; ana the candle, guttering and sinking, was going out. It went out—and the crack widened. It widened, and something dark came out of it. It swelled till it reached to where I lay, and choked me while I tried to frco my throat. I could hear the clock striking in the hall. I don't lcno.w what happened after that or how long a time went by. When I came to myself the hall clock was again striking, ! so the interval must li<*ve been considerable. But, Woulfe, the reek of the candle was still in the loom."

Colonel Caffyn took out his handkerchief and wiped his " lips, no was strongly and evidently excited.

"And that's not all," he continued. "I've tried to stick it out. But four nights running it has happened. For four nights I have woken with that ; creature s folds about my throat; every night the candle has gone out, or when my eyes open the wick is just smouldering down. It has happened first at miduight, then at one o clock, and then at two." # Ho stopped and attempted a smile which was an uneasy grin. " I'd rather think there was something in it than believe that my nerves have trapped mo intodclusions of this kind "

Tho Doctor replied at once. "I am so convinced that there is something in it that I'm not going to (ell you anything about nerves or indigestion, or theonso on the brain's tendency to convert a subjective impression "into an objective one. What I will do is to come and stay with you in the wainscoted room. £?' oncl Caffyn visibly brightened. Thats very good of you," he said, its what I should like. If you will dine and sleep we can test tho thing better. Doctor Woulfe arrived tit the Manor a utile before dinner and was taken by his host to the haunted room. Ostensibly tho Doctor was to oceupv one of upper bedrooms of tho house; but CalTyn sitid. that the wainscoted room was large enough to accommodate a second mai tress—which had been taken into it. To Wo-,life's surprise he found that the mattress, J ike hi:: host's own, was !'»;■! on the floor. Cafryn remarking that as lie had only been proposing to sleep in the room for a row nights iie had not troubled to have a bedstead moved in. lie hoped his pucst did notmind.

The Doctor did not mind; but he was rather disturbed by another habit of the old Anglo-Indian when they went to bed rather late. On the linst inspection of the room, the windows, which looked over the low-lying Gelds about, the Manor House (o the creek, and to the bleak sea marshes beyond, were

open. But at bed-time tho windows were shut and were almost hermetically sealed by tho heavy old fashioned shutters that some previous owner of tlie house had put in to protect himself iroiu the bitter east wiiids ot winter. ->olonel Cuffyn did not observe tho ijoctor s disapproving glanca at the shutters. ( As it' happens,"' he reKf,, ca cli night I have slept with nn Wi.H) I ' S t® ? sei ''"' )ecauso t' lei "o are i.i h Light aiways wakes me up suppose it is the L, J . Indian days, when tho sun vou s?een°\Jm <f d 11 i), o"' 11111089 iii>?d cl °«ies over vour Iliad. lilit mi the wholi Dfi-lnrn il'« better for our e.tpcrii-cnt" tion tile fell inve6ti & a " 1p° f \ ? d th to forego U w ( i>ei-ea s Colonel Caffvn, k", 11111 Ci certainly seemed to-bare rut--"ou!?i-,v U n U,enV f l' the sense ol oppresi i'V ; ~ '\K ,lu' i " ,ls rathci ' dam p t n! , U ' o ' Joelo [ Somev %nL l i ' i "'" sue , t0 excitement. Wnt S SI > e ar l>' Ul!d > t0 an excel- ' ienie nnni!r aml sometllm e to unhy-v-l>fni? I coluluions —on the suDjeet of' heml'f 1 " -1, faddist. • Whate'/ „n ?; 1 ? 0 ' h ? , col l ld n °t sleep.» He Vic p top's a second candlein Jm ?i all , l ?V" ec , ( V ono candle, >ul ii°.'n 1 1 1 C f ouel ? su ßWstions, it burit • "i Y a !P s ? t '> w!lL 'M the I<n* n J V' ai VJ helpcd t0 k <*p U . e - "V 1 ' 1 ? second ,„"i-V i^fi , ' v llls bsilsidc, and ' o , rrail - Colonel Caffvn Vc'lHh" /■' sa °I >urati o"s, slept Wn.>lß'« i'? g i no,r am! a K"ia- Dr .-lie" thoUßht should never go to for his ncxt "akine drr i, 1 ? at of a half " Mr Si■ r ! " whlch BMl "ed to be i ue- f,! ,m- U ® o ? ce , r , emembered ha v. e sleeper i , ill c!llorc '' o ™- Liko oen hfsev-?s- I htm , are ' l"\could not a "on vof e foVt In VT k ' n ~ ast in an JftOnj oi eiioit he tlicl so, their me fell t ol 'whil' ai L l 10 f ai l d ! 0 )>r tte waiS slrotchel 'i lt , V '' (!nt out " Il « ™ u '! ,l j>' s band towards the out uam ' l ' 3 - -the second candle went

"•■tLMn? 0 ?! 01 "' hi ? i lc:irt beat »'S fast, li v m «tchos, a gasp came > in the mattress where his companion fo n.l h n ro / v^. th ? raatc,le s? He : ill . - 1, l)llt . hl , s rhook, and hfl rtt?; , At 'f 1 '1° 6truck u ,ae,>j-it'd and went out. -I , "l knc f". ■ th ° C S ,onel ?, U w ch ? • • «•» of. a ,-'" r fol | U(J his senses and tr' >' r°i 'i an i lo , u ' ur, | s . t,lu mantelpiece mii-ru he had put a bicycle lamp. It , a I"' ! !-eiit electric one; and in another moment its radiance illumined lie room. Colonel Caffyn liad rolled 1,1)1,1 his matlreas to the floor. The 'V ° thouuh the , , * a "oavy one, and he quickly hoarsely, then-''You saw it!" I saw nothing," Ea j ( l ]) r . Woulfe. £«& rnom l Vny tl lfc." Wm Mt Gt ° P "You did 6ee it,. then!" eaid tha Colonel in a whisper. The Doctor glauced : at tho white face wet with sweat.

T\e 11 talk about that to-morrow morning. Aieamvhile jou must go to yourjnrn room upstairs',' . ■ C-'iityn stumbled once or twice on tha way He reeled a littk.when thor bi'ooc! 111 hij room. Thc'Doctor produced a tiny shining syrinte. "You must «o to sleep, Caffyn," he remarked. "It s absolute]} necessary. And if I give you a strong" opiate and sec Mint you are not waked w>; shall bo in a better position to talk; this bum. ness over to-morrow."

It- was bright sunlight ivten the Colonel woke; and the first filing he noticed was that there was no siimd of the workmen outside. With ,ha hot water camo a message that Daetor Woulfe would see him as soon a-ri ho was dressed. lie shaved with a iaking hand; but the first sight of the doctor's face brought reassurance rith it.

"You've got something to tell no, Woulfo?" ' •

" I want you to come with me to where wo slept last night." " \ They went to tho wainscoted roon ■ together. Somo workmen were then, and as one of them stepped asidi Colonel Caffyn saw a great gaping hole where the cracked panel of wainscot had been.- Brickwork behind tha panel had been knocked away; and, us he drew nearer, Colonel Caffyn saw that behind the brickwork was somothing lilco a pit. "Bring a light," said the Doctor.

One of the workmen brought a flat caudlestick with which someone had evidently been experimenting, for a coid was tied to it. The workman lighted the candlo and lowered it into thc_ pit. Colonel Caffyn leant forward feeling a little sick. ILo was not quito sure what lie was going to see; But before ho saw more than a broken arch of brick the candlo went out. "There's your ghost," said the Doctor. i " What?" " There's no ghost," continued Doctor Woulfc, rapidly explaining, "except marsh gas. There's a sewer running under vour lato bedroom, Caffyn. Its grave—l mean the brick, arch—has fallen in; and consequently,its wraith has risen each night to torment you/ 1 ' ,' "I don't believe it," declared the Colonel, flatly; "how could it grip mo by the throat like—as it did?" You slept on the floor each night— exactly the place to make it most effective. It might as easily have suffocated you as not. But I admit that the absence of smell made the thing puzzling. That , wasi partly. because the, sense of smell is almost dormant during, the sleeping hours, aild partly because marsh gas, as distinguished from the gas usually associated with sewers, has' not much smell." . It wr.s not easy to convince the haunted Colonel; but a complete examination of the ruined briclc culvert, moie than a qentury old, and the drainago that led'into it soon left him with no doubt. ' The Doctor had guessed the solution of the mystery, it appeared, at the moment when his second went out. When the electric bicyclo lamp remained unaffected, he was sure "Vlie Colonel had only one last doubt to be. answered. . • "Why did the tiling choko mo an hour later each night?" be asked. j "That, puzzled mo at'first, replied Doctor Woulfo; "but I find that the culvert communicates with the creek, and that when the tide rises the culvert bccomes flooded -and the gas is forced batfk. The tide rises nearly an hour later each night."—By, E. S..Grew, m "The Idler."

The Fascination of the Hour (Motoring), For the summer and long evenings there is nothing to equal the Launch. To be up-to-date you must mqnoct the stock we have at 203 Lambton Quay. A. B. Gownall and Co. Over'2ooo invitations liave been issued for tho " At Homo " to be given at Government House this afternoon in honour of Dominion Day.