Evening Star Newspaper, March 13, 1932, Page 72

2 tale. This July traveler of long ago was in a great hurry. Black clouds were gathering overhead. Any minute the storm, which comes quickly in Virginia, might descend. Suddenly the storm broke, first with a few drops, then in drenching fury. The traveler, spurring his horse, looked round for a tree or bush under which he could stop, and caught the gleam of the old lantern, faintly visible through the church window. Thinking, in the black- ness, that he had found a home where he could take refuge, the horseman rode through the grove and into the yard. He tied his horse in the shed that used to be there, found the side door open and came inside. The fact that he was in a.church, not a dwelling, made no difference. He went into a pew—"de very pew we settin’ in now,” said the old sexton—stretched himself full length on the bench and closed his eyes to keep the lightning out while he waited for the storm to pass. For some time he lay there, listening to the hiss of the wind in the grove out- side and the slap of the rain against the window panes. Then suddenly he heard another sound. It was a rustle, but different from the noisy rustling of the trees. This was like the rustle of garments, close by his head. He sat up quickly and opened his eyes. The church was in dense blackness. Even the lantern, which had been lit when he lay down, was no longer burn- ing. He could see nothing. And for the moment that quiet rustling had stopped. But as he sat there, alert and tense in the darkness, a flash of lightning illuminated the church for a second and he saw a strange sight—so strange that he thought his eyes must have deceived him. Trembling, uncertain, he sat where he was, waiting for another flash to con- " firm his doubts. It came, followed by a crash of thun- der. By its light he saw again the same weird sight. A tall, sinister figure— draped entirely in black—stood under the big canopy, on the topmost level of the pulpit. The figure was leaning out RSIRENERE. == toward him and waving its arms almost directly over him, with long, white hands showing out of black sleeves. The traveler clenched the edge of the seat cushion, recoiled against the back of the pew, peered into the darkness, waiting. NOTHER blinding flash. The strange apparition was still there —but closer. It had descended to the second level of the pulpit, and its arms still waved toward the frightened traveler. Terror stiffened the traveler's arms. Hard as he could push, he forced himself against the back of the pew—away from that black-draped figure. Rigidly he sat in the impenetrable darkness—listening as that faint rustling noise seemed to come closer and closer. The lightning flashed again. Now the fearful apparition was in the first pulpit, the lowest of the three, directly above him. The thin waving arms seemed to reach almost to the man’s head. Terrified, the traveler jumped for the door of the pew, fumbled frantically with its catch, made his way into the aisle. There he stumbled against the stove in the stifling dark, and, so weak and trem- bling were his knees, he fell to the floor. As he picked himself up the lightning flashed oncé more. The apparition had descended from the pulpit and was com- ing down the aisle, just behind him. Somehow the traveler reached the door—with the black-draped figure close on his heels all the 'way——and, never stopping for his horse, dashed toward the highway. In the graveyard of the church he paused to draw quick, painful breaths, for his heart was pounding in his chest— and, for a moment, he thought he had escaped the apparition. But no, the lightning showed that his pursuer was still close behind. Off he started down the slope, hitting branches as he ran, bloodying his face, panting. At last he reached the turnpike. Far THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, MARCH 13, 1932 down the road he glimpsed a flicker of light; he made for it. Then he saw that there was not one light, but two. They were lanterns in the hands of men. His breath was gone; he was gasping, pant- ing and muttering incoherently when he reached the men and stumbled against them. They had to hold him up as he told them his story between quick, short breaths. “You won’t believe me,” he said when he had finished, “because I don’t see the black shape now. You won't believe me.” “But the gen’'men did believe him, ma’am,” said the old sexton. “One er de gen’'men say: ‘Well, I guess we done found her, all right. Crazy Mary got out er de ’sylum terday, and we been searchin’ for her everywhere. I guess we found her now.’” THIRE was a long, long silence. I looked at the major and then at the sexton, but the Negro’s face was expres- sionless. The climax to his story seemed to indicate a secret cynicism beneath that naive old face. Was he the kind of person deliberately to create and then destroy an atmosphere? He didn’t look it. I turned to my companion. “It’s not good enough, major,” I said. “You've tipped off your old friend here to fool me. You've made a conspiracy to have fun with my illusions.” He hastily denied this, but I was not listening to him. My attention was caught once more by a look in the old Negro’s eyes. It was, somehow, a better denial of such a plot than anything the major was saying. It also showed me that he had something more to tell. “You cain’t tell ’bout this church, ma’am,” he said. “I know I cain’t, and 1 don’t know any one what can ’splain some er de mysteries. Hit was two gen’men once what made a bet with an- other gen’'man dat he wouldn’t go up in dat belfry by hisself at midnight in de dark er de moon. To win de bet and prove he been dar he was ’bliged to drive a nail in de floor under de bell—a marked nail hit was—painted red.” m e In the dark of the moon, as this sec- ond story went, the three men came down to Wayside, about half a mile off the road, and two of them waited there while the third went to the church and climbed into the belfry to win his bet. They waited an hour—two hours. But he did not come back. Then one of the two men waiting bet the other that he wasn’t brave enough to go in search of the missing man—alone. He was, and he, too, went to the church and started climbing toward the belfry. Back near the road the third man waited alone. A long time passed, and neither of his companions returned. He was frightened now and didn’t care who knew it. So he got some neighbors to- gether, and they all went over to the church. Up in the belfry they found the two men —dead. The body of one lay sprawled over the other. Through the overcoat of the man who had first climbed to the top of the church the marked nail was driven, fastening him to the planking. “Dey ’splained dat, too,” said the old sexton. “Dey say de man drive de nail through his own coat in de dark, and dat when he git up to leave he feel a tug on his coat. He got a weak heart, and dat tug at this coat, up in the belfry in de dark, scare him so he drop dead.” “But what about the other man?” I asked. ‘ “When he climb up in de belfry, so dey ’splain hit, he see de first man lyin’ there, and he drap dead, t0o.” “And do you believe the explanation?” I asked. “What do you think?” The old Negro looked at me for a long minute. Rather, he looked through me. Then something closed in his face like the slow shutting of a secret door. “I don’t know what I thinks, ma’am,” he said, and started to lead the way down the aisle. In front of the door he paused for a minute. “But if dat traveler I was tellin’ you ’bout didn’t see no ghost,” he said, “who put out my lantern? Hit was hangin’ where no human hand could reach hit.” Match-Making to Keep the Resort Hotel Running Smoothly LOST 15 pounds that Summer I was clerking at the Fairview—and every ounce marked an encounter with Wwilkins. He’d spent all of his Sum- mers at the Fairview for the past 150 years or so, and I suppose he did have some rights as an early settler. There was some talk that on his first visit he’d come in a covered wagon, but you don’t have to believe it if you don’t want to. Anyway, he thought he owned the place. I remember he had one chair on the sun porch in the southwest corner that he considered his private property—and heaven defend the one who sat there! One of the most familiar sights of the hotel was Wilkins’ shining, bald dome over the back of the chair while he sunned himself and dozed. New guests wouldn’t always realize the enormity of the offense of sitting in Wilkins’ chair, and then what an explosion! I{ would make a charge of TNT sound like the postman’s whistle. I finally settled that difficulty by presenting him with a nice sign lettered “Wet Paint,” which he hung on the chair except when he was in i, It worked O. K., only the old boy got a reputation for more or less mild insanity with new guests for picking the onmly chair on the porch marked “Wet Paint” to sit on. But I didn’t know what real trouble was until the day Evangeline Dearborn and her Tobias arrived. I was at the desk one night when in breezed one of the dizziest females I've ever seen. She was dressed in a style that would have made any self-respecting flapper throw up the sponge and buy herself panta- lettes and a hoop skirt, and I'll swear she wasn’t a day over 55. Or six. Well, she swept up to the desk and gave me the full benefit of an alluring smile. But I controlled myself and merely said in the manner I reserve for grand duchesses: “What can I do for you, madam?” “I want the best room in the hotel,” she said. “Now, mind you, I said the best. There must be cross ventilation and a southern exposure.” As it happened this was a bit of luck, as our season hadn’t been any too good, and several of our higher priced rooms By Kay Kennedy were vacant. Here, thought I, is where I palm off 435. “It just so happens, madam, that our choicest room is unoccupied,” I told her. Then I added with that inventive genius that has contributed largely to my suc- cess in life: “Mrs. Preston Paige—you know, of the Virginia Paiges—had the room until yesterday, when she was called home by illness in her family. “Is that so!” she sniffed. “Well, there might be germs in the room. No, no, I don’t care what member of her family was sick. I'm taking no chances. Not with dear Tobias.” “Very well, madam, another excellent room is vacant, which I am sure will satisfy you. Front! Boy, take madam’s things to room 435.” “Not so fast, young man,” she snapped. “Are there two comfortable beds in that room?” “Why, yes, there are twin beds, but, but——" I hesitated. What did the old girl want with two beds? “Are you sure theyre comfortable? used to the best, and he’ll fret 't get his sleep,” she said. . ? ou have only registered for one per- son, madam,” I said, apologetically. It wasn't every day that I rented our most expensive room, and I was afraid of of- fending her, but still the Trement was a family hotel. “Of course, I have. Why should I register for Tobias?” She began to get quite excited. “He’s no trouble at all, and if any one of your other guests com- plain about him, don’t you pay the least bit of attention. He’s the gentlest, quiet- est dear in the world, and nobody but a crank could possibly object to him.” “But, madam » “If you won't have him, I will take my bags and go. When you know Tobias, young man, you'll realize that what I say is true. He’s not as young as he once was, but he’s still as smart as he was in his days on the stage.” This was, I thought, getting worse and worse. A quiet, gentle, smart old dear who had been on the stage. “No, madam,” said I finally, with great dignity and firmness. “We cannot al- low——" “Just you wait till you see him. Here, Tobias, I want you to show the silly young man what a nice old thing you are.” And with that she leans over, un- fasiens a bag and drags out the most revolting-looking poodle I have ever seen. It would be unfair to say he looked like a last year’s powder puff. Unfair to the powder puff, I mean. “8Sit up, Tobias, and say ‘Howdy do’ to the silly young man. Was *um too tired after the long, nassy old trip on the train? Him was wuzza tweetest lamb!” And she turned to me triumphantly. “Now, young man, how do you feel about Tobias?” Rather ill, to be honest, but I just smiled r Jlitely and murmured something about being sure that I would learn to love him as I knew him better. “Of course, you will. Every one loves Unfortunately, that did not prove to be case. She and her Tobias had been in the palatial 435 only a day the man in 436 had his room because of ‘ittle lamb’s yapping night and the chambermaid gave no- because Evangeline expected her to shampoo Tobias. By that time I'd have He was always under foot, and the por- ters wasted half their time trying to pick him up to throw away, mistaking him for an old mop. No, Tobias was not the pet of the hotel. His stage experience—oh, I forgot to tell you; he was the sole survivor of a troupe of performing dogs that Evange- line had carried around the vaudeville circuits in her palmy days—made him love applause—and he was always trying to ingratiate himself by jumping over and through objects that were never intended to be jumped either over or through. His principal passion was for a ball of any kind or size. His most famous stage trick had been—as Evangeline lovingly confided—to walk on a ball as he rolled It along the stage. Tobias became a posi- tive menace to the young peopie piaying particular dislike to the gret to say, on occasion more concrete objects—at him whenever Evangeline wasn’t near. We began to notice, how- ever, that he was positively nice to the dog when she was around, and it wasn’t long before all the staff were gossiping about the romance. Wilkins hadn't been known to smile since he first laid out his claim at the Fairview back in the 60s until he had been seen on three different occasions twisting back his facial muscles into something intended to be a smile when he was talking to the fair Evan- geline. Evangeline plastered on twice as much make-up, and the chambermaid reported to the housekeeper, who in turn passed it on to us, that the old girl was using 25 curl papers a night instead of 15. Nat~ urally, we scented a love affair. Twenty- five curl papers, we argued, could spell nothing but romance. The head waiter put their tables to- gether, and I took it upon myself to send flowers to Evangeline’s room with a card reading simply, “Your Humble but De- voted Admirer.” She was twice as nice to him after that, and Wilkins thawed to such an extent that he was positively maudlin. But this, it turned out, was only the well known lull before the equally well known storm. Disaster was soon to overtake our happy family. One morning Evangeline was writing letters in the lounge, while her suitor took his customary nap in the sun. I could just see the top of his head over the chair glinting in the sun from where I stood at the desk, and I was musing happily on love when suddenly the air was rent with a horrible yowl of pain. I looked toward the sun porch again, and there I saw something that made my blood congeal. The glistening dome had been too much for Tobias, and there he was perched happily on Wilkins’ head. As Wilkins twisted and turned in his ef- forts to get free Tobias daintily but te- naciously kept his balance. It was ag Continued on Bleventh Page