A Dead-Head [pp. 428-438]

A DEAD - HEAD.
his coffin? Jim and me was friends, we
was! I wouldn't ha' hit him, but he looked
as ef his body was a big long snake that
reached round the corner. And a snake,
sir-a snake brought all the trouble into
this world. I was obliged ter knock him
on the head. I want ter know ef he
changed back an' looked like a man.
Eh? Didyer see him? How'd he look
after -"
Calling a policeman, I got rid of this
horror. Then it occurred to me-supposing Thornton should walk in, to
whom could I then appeal? It approached the time for the theatre to
open. I looked for-the passing of Aline.
She came in, and we stood talking in
the back part of the store:
"You can write some plays while in
prison," she suggested. "I want the
leading part, of course."
"You have had it in my life tragedy!"
I replied.
"Poor fellow!" she impulsively exclaimed. With one of her old alluring
glances, she held out both hands. The
subtile charm of her presence overpowered me. I drew her to my heart. I
kissed her. I forgot Thornton. I forgot the world. "Aline! O Aline!" I
cried, smoothing her hair and holding
her dainty head against my breast. As
I did so, I looked into the front store.
Terentieff stood before the counter, back
to me, under the gas, so that I noticed
that strip of dried mud and grease on
his right shoulder. He was marking
some passage in a book, a vexatious
trick of his. "For a congenial soul
coming after," he would say, "to thus
find my comments, will be like discovering foot - prints in the sand of a lonely
island." A distant hand - organ was
playing the music of Robert le Diable,
where the nuns rise from their graves to
dance in the church-yard by moonlight.
Terentieff turned, and seeing us, he
spelled upon his fingers the words of
his favorite Antiphanes: "One thing
only I believe in a woman, that she will
not come to life again after she is dead;
in everything else I distrust her until
she is dead!" With his old stealthy
step he crept silently near, picked up a
violet note on the floor, and showed me
the superscription, "James A. Pruyn," in
Aline's writing. He noiselessly opened
and held it so that I read-a short passionate love-letter! It was like looking
into her heart. The prophetic scene in
my play came back to me. Aline lifted
her lovely head, bending the magic of
her sweet eyes upon me; she looked
startled.
"You are not well!" she cried in her
pretty coaxing way.
"No," I said, putting her away. As
she tried to regain her self-possession,
shaking the folds of her dress, she saw
her letter on the floor, refolded and enveloped just as she let it fall. Hastily
catching it up she put it into her pocket.
"Shall I tell you what is in that letter?" I asked.
With one of the tinkling laughs that
bewitched her audiences, she nodded
assent.
"I am clairvoyant enough to see "
"Come, no spiritual nonsense! Do
you look for Thornton's ghost?"
As she spoke, Terentieff approached
and seemed about to lay his hand upon
her shoulder. She shivered, but did not
turn her head. He seemed to change
his mind about speaking to her, turned,
and walked slowly out.
"The draught here will give me a stiff
neck," she said. "Good-night!"
I followed to the door, and watched
her vanish into the thick fog. A passing voice spoke of it as "a ghostly
night." I mused over dead love and
faith for which there could be no resurrection. All my ambitious plans overthrown, my only resource must be my
old solace-the pursuit of literature. I
might even now write that long-talkedof ghost-story. "It was not a duel, it
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