place. Sam Alvers, another shadow, was in his old place at the table. Nearly all the dead members of the Black Hawks were there. Some of those who had passed on had wrested themselves from things material upon their death and never returned.
Detective Walter Bellden, who had been killed by Doc Hanks, leaned against the wall and watched proceedings with an amused expression on his astral face.
Terry, he of the living and he who had slain me, sat near me. But what a Terry! No longer the old-time cheering smile on his lips. His hair, once a dark brown and curly, was now thin and gray. I had been near him almost constantly since he killed me, but he would not see me, could not hear me. How I longed to tell him he was justified in what he did! How I longed to ease his stinging conscience!
Drinks were served. Terry nodded to Herman Damstead. Herman rose.
"Sister and brother Black Hawks," he began in his deep voice, holding high a glass of port, "shall we drink again tonight to the memory of Hal Steadman, our friend, our leader, who, though he alone was the cause of his death, is yet a friend and a Black Hawk in our memories? Would that he could sit in yonder chair again tonight and once more give us wise counsel. Ah, that we could only see him there again, smiling the old familiar smile, telling us again—Gad!"
The glass of port fell to the table, sending a shower of splintered glass over the white spread. The hand that held the glass now pointed directly at me.
"It is he—Hal!" Herman whispered hoarsely. "See, see, he is smiling up at me!"
Then I knew from the look of mingled surprise and terror on his face that I had faded from his vision. He remained in the same position, pointing a shaking finger at the chair.
Several of the men laughed nervously.
"Better go to bed, Herman," one of them advised. "This port plays the dickens sometimes with a man's imagination."
I noted, however, that every face in the room was pale. They led Herman, weak and trembling, from the room. I followed.
"I'm not drunk, boys," he protested huskily. "I saw him—saw Hal! He was smiling up at me. He sat in his chair as he used to sit in life, his legs crossed, his right elbow on the arm of the chair and his chin resting in the palm of his hand."
I left Mother Maldrene's again to drift, a bit of flotsam on a sea of discontent and regret. But I always drifted back to my old pal Terry.
Many strange things I saw. Ah, you mortals, what a world you live in! We ghosts know. We hear the promises that are made to be broken. We hear the vows of love made and see those vows shattered on the altar of greed and lust. And such was to be the lot of Terry.
Marie, whose heart and love was like the drifting sands of Sahara, or the changing monsoons of Eastern seas, was drifting away from Terry.
Doc Hanks it was who was successfully battering down the woman's weak fortresses of loyalty to her husband.
I was with Terry the night he returned to his home to find Marie gone. Pinned on the door on the inside was a sheet of writing paper, and written on the paper in a flourishing feminine hand was this:
"Terry: As you once won me from Hal, so has Doc Hanks won me from you. We will he far away when you read this. Please do not attempt to find us, because—well, I do not hate you, Terry, nor wish you harm, and Doc, you know, never allows any one to get the drop on him. Forget me, Terry, if you can.
"Marie"
I followed the heart-broken man from the house. I was at his side when he left the city. I was with him still when he at last wandered through the woods in the darkness of the night and finally stood with bared head on the banks of the old swimming pool, where years ago we told each other our boyhood troubles and gave each other our boyhood sympathy.
Why would not Terry see me? Others had seen me. Perhaps this night he would. Perhaps—
"Hal," he whispered, holding out his arms toward the pool. "Hal, what shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?"
I stood before him, peering, peering into his eyes. Why could he not see me?
Then he saw, and he, like the others who had seen me, became terrified.
"Hal!" he screamed. "For Heaven's sake, have mercy on me, old man! Yes, yes, I know I killed you, but I'm sorry, so sorry. Don't haunt me, Hal! Please go away!"
As he backed away from me, holding up his arms as if to ward off a blow, I followed, ever trying to make him understand.
Then—
He screamed, the terrifying scream of a stricken soul, and, even before the echoes died away in the distant wood, he plunged into the pool.
All was still then. The surface of the water became calm as a soul detached itself from a material body.
It rose to the surface, a nebulous glow that drifted to me across the water. Terry it was, understanding now and unafraid.
"Come, pal of mine," I said, and we floated away, hand in hand.
THE little old woman's voice falters now. She is awakening from the trance. Those two skeptics sneer still.
"Come, Terry, old pal, let's leave these things of materialism. Let's go!"
Lecturer Derides Material Theories of Evolution
DR. HENRY VAN DYKE, in a recent address in Chicago, declared "The mind of the materialist is sheer chaos, disturbed occasionally by lightning flashes which he calls thought." He added that there is no reason why evolution should be regarded solely as a material process, and then continued:
"It disturbs me to think of the number of honest, simple people who today are worried beyond reason by new-fangled and purely material theories of evolution, which deny the existence of a future world. Surely we can imagine evolution as successive efforts of our Creator, who improved again and again upon His work, until at last He produced His finest creation, man, and to him gave an immortal soul."
