ECEMBER zi, 1929 _ _ I’ === --, 'run cusucorrcrov/N GUARDIAN ~ ,PAGE THREE
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It was Christmas Eve. The village of shun. valleymore was in its best festive aitirc and mood. The houses were decorated -with plen. tlful' supplies of glistening holly and ivy, Bunches of mistletoe hung from -¢°°,._,_ christmas candies shone in wmdows. onli- dren ‘had been sept to bed-not to sleep. Men were shaving for Midnight l.ia:s, 'W0. men werefcookizxg. . .
In Connollys‘ comfortable I.-mn-lzouso the,
A excitement Was at its highest.
Sheila and Uuala were setting the supper
table.
"I wonder what Uncle Kevin will mc like!" f‘Fat, stomachy and full of good advice,
like Uncle James, I expect. I say, look et those twins! They’ll burst!"
Just then, Mrs. Connolly, a tall. sweet-faced
woman came in.
"Mother, I've been counting. and Billy and
Jenny have eaten six mince pics each!"
"To bed. my dcars. No more. Uncle Kevin
will be tired. You'll see him tomorrow, Cnll- dren--" ,
#You-forget mother, my child. I am eight
and Jenny is 'liactiy-"
"No speeehu, Billy boy! Come along!
Sheila and Nuala. will see after the table. Yes, I expect he -will like abit of fish-those cod cutlels look nice. .If he is like Dad.
he'll enjoy them." _
"Isn't it odd that Dad never saw him?" "Yes, his ilrst cousin, and he docsn‘t know
how old he is. He might be thirty or sixty."
Meanwhile, the fathcr‘s first cousin was
getting a. bit worried and excited. He won- dered if the game was really worth the candle. It had been simple-so far. Larry Cox had been a life-long friend of Tom Con- nolly. By judicious questioning, Kevin had picked up the family history-several long lost uncles. men who had gone to England .and America in their youth. A cosy farm- house. boys and girls. md hospitable parents --and the same name as his! A fertile brain soon conceived a plan for spending a real irish Christmas in a real Irish family.
The brown mane trotted faster as she
came nearer home. The taunting car swung dangerously round halr~pln bends. The unc1e's heart began to beat faster.
"Here we are. Uncle Kevin. I'il take
your bag. _.»There's Dad, Mum, Sheila, Nuala and Dick. Those white figures looming uv on that window are the twins (gone to bed). not the family ghosts."
Kevin had a confused impression of being
made welcomeby various voices-a blaze at light frvm the glowing log fire, the tall oil lamp and taller Christmas candle, plenty oi' rod-berrled holly, a very appetizlng looking supper. a burly rosy-faced man, a gentle woman, other young faces-and then one clear mental image-his dream face-dark hair, dark thick eyebrows, dark blue eyes, red full-iipped mouth. small strong white teeth-his niece, Nusla-the tall lissom lass
of his llfe‘s dreamt ,
Soon he was sitting on his white hed undu-
the slanting roof. The family had gone in the jsunting ear to Midnight Mass. The Dface of the country-side hoveled over and about him. The homeliness, the love in this old home, and the starry eyes of his 'niece' Nuale-his wife to be. if he could unravel satisfactorily the little web of deceit which
he had woven so carefully for this visit.
Christmas. Day passed-a day to be remem-
bered for ever by the Connaiiys. Uncle Kevin was wonderful. He had brought -presents
for each one in the house.
The week went by on wings, On the Satur-
day Uncle Kevin was going back. The twins were disconsolate. Dick was making plans to attend Uncle Kevin's school. The father, mother, Sheila and Tom were arrangiiik f°!` the next visit of their beloved relative. Noela
was sad and silent. .
Her mother was worried about her. It was
so unlike Nuala to be joyiess and unsociable. She was more worried when, on thc day be- fore Uncle Kevin‘s departure, Nunia announc- ed her intention of cycling to Maliow to see a friend. She' said. ln a spiritless v0iC¢.¢~hll1 she intended to stay for the night. If Nualit said a thing, she meant it, and thc next day there was a vacant chair at the dinner
table.
"Where is Nuala? My last evening. iD°i" "She did siy she was going to see Debbie,
but surely she never slipped on like that!"
Sheila came running in, looking diS°lJ‘
Wintod, end breathless.
"Yes, the bike is gone. Didn't che uv
'Goodbye' to you Uncle Kevin. D0 YOU KUUW- all last night she was cfymst Ind Wkinfl in her sleep and saying things about being 1|\¢¢ King Herod, and committing an awful crim°
and-`”
"what een be wrons? She 10”” 9'1"
» _g "_,
\,
. -_- '__ /aw---'L _J
_ .",,..1 5
' M. C. (at Christmas dance): “MIY » I introduce Mr. Pinhesd. MU* Wm!
liowar?" ` - ..
mu waiinoiio--= "why Iwi? What do you think rm here foff' ‘
and sho hasn't'been‘esting g bm.. fell” W” Pumlil Oh his coat.
h its only just four. I‘li walk therg in gn °“\'-_I must see Nuala before I go. I'li ilnd Debbie's all i‘ight,"'
Before.the astonishedyfamily could utter
I Word, he was stridlng down gm 1-q,d_
V a a o'o"'e`ee
lie took the .short cut across the fields and
“me Out at Aunakissa. H15 fwutem echoed °“ l-he 1°U¢1l’ mud, and his brain was busy “yi” "0 mid .I Why out of the "uncle" tangle. He couldn't marry his nieee__nnq ~"°‘ "° Hillel- S°m=t\iinz told him that she, L00. loved him. she had run away because she had found out her feelings-and his. But crime-what connection could his dream girl have with any crime? -She must be im. “lining l-1111182! As the darkness descended he walked still i;t;;tcr. But had somebody called? Did he heal' a moan? Was he get- liilk Ti*3i'vy. oi' was there something ghostly ‘mul ihl-i lililfll’ road? Yes_surely ti weak voice was calling him! '
"Kevin, Uncle Kevin!" `
That v.'a.s no ghost-ly voice. It wasfhls
Nualai Yes. his l»luala~`that slim formiying beside a wreck of'an` old bicycle. He struck a match and the light showed a white face, and eyes dark with pain.
“Nuala, myvovluiadarlingf what is it?
How--" f '
"I_didn't think it wouid~get dark so soon. First of all I got a puncture. I mended that. Then the old frame collapsed. It has been cracked for months. I féil just here, 1th|n|¢ I must have liccn asleep. But, Uncle Kevin, my l?l;! Then I saw you walking past, I know I was dreaming about you. Then I ih0iisl1t I was dead-and that you were alive “nd "-Wllkilik past. But my awful sin! _I kept lliinklng of that. Oh!" _
Gently hc lifted her up, and Legg hm-
BCFOSS t0 it §rl»SSy bank. There he sat for a minute. holding her. and stroking her curling hair. ‘
“Nu.ala. my own lovel' 1‘ll carry you to
the next house. it can't be too far, I see B glimmer of iight across there. Then rn go into Mailow and get a doctor ands taxi."
“But your train, Uncle Kevin. You an
going to-" n _'
"Trains and schools' can walt, Everything
can wsltl now I'vc got you."
“But Uncle Kevin, the slnl The awful sin
of falling in love with an uncle. I am wick- ed. Oh!" . . _
To his dismay the girl burst into tears.
The sobs seemed to shake her slender figure.
"My own! It is no sin. There, let me wipe
your face!" \ V Y
As he wiped her tears he told her the story
of' his deceit. _He was forgiven before he
had nnuncu his" confession, i "My _own Christmas Uncle! I love you!
It is no sin now. If you knew how I've been feeling. I thought offalllng in love with my unclc~and I knew it was -wrong. Then I made up my mind to slip away to Debbie's. I couldnt bear it any longer. I coulcin‘t say_-"
The rest of hcr sentence was nnished. but
not in words. ,
He held her tenderly in his arms, as he
made plans for tlieirfuturc. Then he sud- denly rcalizecl that the night was dark and cold. l-le struck a iight and looked at his watch. Nine o'clock! He was stiff from sit- ting with his beloved burden on his knees. Ac ne stood up. he staggered-
"l\’o, Kevin, you couldnt carry nic. I‘il sit here until you come back. That house_ls not so near as you think. Oh, the llghtsare out They _are in bed. Whatever can we do?" '
The courage of his Nualn-sit here until he
came back! If a ti“am`p, or a bull-he must carry her.
"Kevin, do you hear-listenl It sound
like Brown Bread-our mare!"
And Brown Bread it wns._ with Mr. Connol-
ly and Tom, very friglitcned and anxious as to the_whcreabouts of Uncle Kevin. "When it came to seven-and then eilhi'-'
well-Mum was in a state. We drove to the station first or au, thinking you had som of! without oomiug back! Then we got worked up, I tell you. Dad was thinking of sending for the Guards. Mum vu owing. sheila was suggesting murder and robbery. The twins were getting swords and shields ready. Now tell us all." ‘ ,
_The questions were answered as Nuala leant against her uncle, and Brown Bread .l°lK¢C\ steadily alonB» . `
More questions when home was reached. Boon Nuala was in bed, and Kevin stood.
guard over thc crackling firc'. in the little' bedroom. until the doctor clmv. "A very badly sprained' ankle. a nasty cut on the knee and bruises-the`child is lucky. Did she get e. bank?"
..Unc1,y- had to make his confession all
nvcr again to the circle round the kitchen
fire. when Nuala had dosed off to sleev-
..-1-0 ghmk tml, a poor lad would have no
place to spend Christrndsi 'Tis a cruel world." ..N,, futher. or mother, or anyone!"
"Unch Kcvm ymfil have a famill' bl!
mough now."
next-and ncxtest, and every one with us!"
--And youll spend next Christmas, and the “rm glad‘you've all forgiven me. You cm
gmygt your Noela to me. I'm so happy. _I
eu,-,,,,..,ny¢hing more oood~night,ni my;
new famllyl"‘ f _
5; went upethe stairs humming softly to ~
himself-_-, . f e "wiht do little_cliilaren sing on onrutmu
It 'i1"Pi¢l-wit on I mmmersday to vm-
11°! ..¥!’u’0i-igh Qie_TemPl_¢~"80 far removed ‘film th° l_‘=°W11u|_sound cz zonaonr mme, Wi 5° \`i¢|,\li_i¥- The Temple-this for the un- inlm.i_i_»'ti.¢ liwym- beauty. xt is-iiiin ‘CW i"e?d= from l=°unding'1~*1est.street and the fumbiinz strand. yet it .nu c charm which, paradoxlcaily, trensmutesqa hundred yards into a' hundred years. Quiet courts, level lawns and time-wont buudmga more . I-¢- (glen r»1l_o_eace>ln a r¢s1mEor__uurest.;-Pigeons ,P°“'- lazily bl' its fountain, 'and the 'plane- treee mike dreamy tesnlatlons on the g-round.
Peace! All is peace! At least, so it seems.
But there is a ghost in the Temple who
knows no peace. becltuse he u_nd¢|-gtjmds well that there is no real peace in -those lwkuld courts. This ghost is the wraith of I 'di-Siibpolnted lltigant named Tollemschc, who was ruined by law costs many years Iso, in the case.Smal1 vs. Tollemache. Not only was he ruined by the costs, but he lost his ease in tnereicntien Joshua smlul and hanged 'himself in his ofiice in the Minorles.
On winter nights, when the fountain is
hushed with ice, or the planc~trees dripping WU-it Biol-‘iiui"e_. the spectral To_llemache_ni_a_kes hi! l9_¢N?¥l’il-lations, finally _to drift noiselessly _through the wall of some building into the ,chamber of one or other of the lawyers; sometimes those of a solicitor, but more of- `ten of a barrister. for there is a. large pre- Ponderance of barrlsters in the Temple.
What ‘he finds on these mundane prowis
is not indicative of peace. Let us view him, for a moment. on one of these nights.
He_ has drifted into a set ot chambers.
musty and book-lined. as most of them are. There is a half-finished iett/er in a well-wom `t.ypewrite`r. The ghostly Tollemache reads it. It begins- _ f‘Uuless we heat- from you by Wednesday next we shall have no alternative but to-” 0111' l9¢¢iro does not care for this. He is tired and names by continuity nmiinc nt. ters beginning with “Unless--"Peace-deb troying epistle; for some poor devils, he thinks. _
I-Ie passes through a brown wall andfinds
himself in the presence of two gentlemen of the law discussing' e. suicide.
"Of course," one of them is saying, #we
shall get our costs all right, so it might have been _ worse." .
“C0uldn't have been much worse for the
poor wretch who shot himself," thinks the Wraith. - _ Ai this Point the Law Courts clock strikes
twelve, and the ghost, as all good gliiets should, goes home. .
Such, then, le the Temple. _Does it sung
for peace? _`j_-_;7_.=e`_- _ _' , 1
Does it tneglsyu if ' It has been uecefifly gl'-give tuicdeccup- tion of the Temple in order -to 'portray _the setting of Mr. Joh§lWetlbe`l‘i'$y’, Solicitor and Commissioner for Oaths, Lime"Court, Temple E- C' MV- Wetherby-w'as notfa bad solicitor, as solicitors go, and he was also it man. Legal knowledge and practice had nm 1|-own --the genial current of his soul." Nor yet had they 'umm m~"f4°¢ W I Parclunent hue, lean and wrinkled. Far from it. _Mr. Wetherby was good to know and good to scc, and mg Cllfitfy- 0XDBiiSlve face encouraged many whose troubles brought them into touch with
him. _
For it is generally trouble which brings
peoplg into touch 'with solicitors. Either
5’0ur's or the other man's. ' _
Mr, Wethel-by's chambers ln Lime Court
were much the same as the rest of them. You turned out of the spacious court into a i'ili'Y0W liH~'>Slge. on each side of which were painted lists of the names of those legal gen- tlemen who have chambers in that particular building. Mr, Wetherby had two rooms, one
for himself and one for his two clerks. In these rooms Mr. Wetherby managed to make two thousand pounds e year-mainly out. of trouble, of someones Your’s or the other man‘s. »
And Mr. Wetherby had to write letters be-
ginning with "Unless," though he honestly did not like it. There is perhaps some! mitigation in the fact that he had these letters hand-written in copper-plate by his elder 'clerk, instead of having them type- wrltten. The word "Unless" seemed to take
on it softer hue in this manner.
In the some way_Mr. Wetherby clung to
other old-fashioned things. His chambers, fo: instance, were lighted by paraffin lamps. just because he liked their mellow glow. They reminded him, somehow, of e farmhouse. he
said.
All of which goes ta show that Mr. Weth-
erby was what is called a decent sort ofchsp
for a solicitor.
To these chambers one night came Mr. An-
drew Small. In age about sixty-five; in ap- pearance es lean and parchment-colored as any lawyer within a hundred yards of Mr. Wetherby’s chambers. But Andrew Small was Mt I llWY¢i'. He was a msn of independent means-of vsry independent means. He was also a lineal descendant of the man Small
who yearsbefore had caused Mr. Toilemache
Day ia the morning?" _.
"Uncle Kevin, come and say good-night to
your niece-"
"Wife, my Nusia. Three weeks to get
ready for ehe wedding. Now-go and sleep peaee!ully.` I have made my confession, and I have been forgiven for playing the plrbof the Christmas Uncle. Good-night my niece-
wife!"
"Good-night, Christina.: Unolei”
to hang himself in the Mlnorles. That, how- ever, is by the way.
The hour of his visit to Mr. Wetherby was
a strange one, for it was about eleven o'clock at night. It was a strange hour at which .to i'tnd Mr. Andrew Small out. just as it was a strange one in whichto find Mr. Wetherby in. Bo was the night itself unusual, for it was the night before 'Christmas Eve.
Mr. Wetherby‘s reason for being at-work
' -so 'late was that he proposed to extend his
'Christmas hqlidaysito a full week, and. in order to do this 'it was necessary for him' to accomplish some work in advance. Mr. Srnsll's lateness, however, is not so easily explained.
Andrew small lived in a comfortable house
in the West End of London. It was a house carrying all the luxury one could desire. And in it lived Andrew Small alone, except for the servants, of whom there were twice too many. But Andrew liked having servants. They were so easy to bully. so helpless against his sarcasm md invective. Occa- sionally one had answered him back, but the effect had been swift and sure. The
servant had gone. _
Andrew had never married; perhaps for
two reasons. One, that he had always been mortal seared that some woman would get him for his money; and the other, possibly, betiiuse no woman of a different type could love a man with such small eyes and such thin llps~the worst facial combination known to creation.
Such then, was Andrew small. It may be
mentioned, however. that he had no rela- tives, with the cxceptlon of Jack Morton,hls nephew. Morton was an artist and lived somewhere in Shropshire, painting landscapes and, strangely enough, living on t.hem-- though only just.
Andrew had little use for him. The lad
refused a good business opening which his _uncle had found for him, and had declared he would make his living by painting. This had more than irritated Andrew. to whom pictures were anathema. except those which cost huge sums and which one could talk about in terms of cash. He had a number of these in his house.
Knowing his unole's intense aversion to
pictures that were just pictures and not in- vestments. Jack Moi-ton, who was ever awag, 56119 his uncle one of his own landscapes as a.Christ`mas present. It arrived late on the dll' of Andrews visit to Mr. Wetherby, but not too isle to prevent Andrew sending him a wire saying that the result of his import- inence meant that be would be cut out of An`drew‘s-will without the waste of a day.
There was an added reason for A.ndrew's ham. He had been told by nic doctor that he might drop dead at any moment. so un- certain was heart. Hence .the telegram £\.',!,d.iwnce the late t-int to Mr, wetherhy.
Mr. Wetherby not only carried on his pro-
fession in the Temple. but lived there, also, in _a quaint fiat in Klng's Bench Walk. An- drew 'had tried there first, only to be told
that Mr. wetnerby was working late.
The la°wyer raised his eyes in surprise
when, in answer to his cheery ‘come ln," the
lean Andrew entered and somewhat pains- takingly removed hls coat. Mr. Wetherby had 'acted for Andrew before, -so that the
men were quite known to each other.
"Well, well, Mr. Small, this is an unex-
pected pleasure. I almost imagined carol- singers when I heard your step down below.
Let me wish you a _hobby Christmas!"
The solicitor deliberately refrained from
using the word "merry." There could never be anything merry about Andrew Small; cer- tainly not in the manner in which he per- iunctorlly returned the compliment. Then,
suddenly, he said:
‘And now to business, Mr. Wetherby. if you don‘t mind." - e The lawyer smiled benigniy, then pursed
his lips and sat withhls finger tips t05€il‘i€i'»
awaiting Andrews next words.
"You will recollect, I think, that some cou-
siderable time ago you made my will, and
that you have the copy here?"
Mr. Wetherby nodded.
“Well. I wish to make an alteration ln il,"
continued Andrew. “I see you are wonder- ing what is the alteration which needs mid- night- attention. 1 malt tell you. I Wish t° cut out my nephew from all the benefits we had arranged for him. The reason IWW* it done at once is that my doctor Ill'-S I mil? die at any time, and most certainly if I meet
with any excitement."
The effect of this pronouncement had oon-
siderable effect upon the lawyer. For a second, the smile faded from his face, only to return, for a smile was never long absent from the face of Mr. Wetherby. But he had turned slightly pale, perhaps with contempt, Andrew motioned that he wished to continue and the lawyer sat silent. This. however. with difficulty, for he both knew and liked young Jack Morton, whom he had known for a number of years. Indeed Mr. wether-. hy'e only son, who wu killed in the War. had been a school-friend of `Morton't. F01' this, if for no other reason. he felt concern for the young fellow about to be disinherit~ ed. There would have been much welit-h
- i- s ~;'rttt..`11’.'s”i ’ f
ih¢QL .
for Morton had he remained in the will. Andrew continued:
‘He has had the audacity to send me. as a
Christmas present, one of his ridiculous pic- tures. He knows full well how I despise them. I have more than once told him so.~ and yet he sends me one! Why, it's nothing short of an insult. Anyhow. I have wired to tell him of my intention, so now .M12 Wetherby. I think we may pi'oc<=od."
But Mr. Wetherby had no intention of
"proceeding," quite so summarily as that. I-fe knew that Andrew Small was a "hard case," but Mr. Wetherby had met “hard cases" bc- fore, and generally managed to get his own way with them. l-le prepared to assume his moat persuasive manner.
"Very tactless of the young man, I am
sure," he said. “But nothing more. n 'hang more."
Andrew grunted and n steely look crept
into his little eycs.
"You see." continued Mr. Weatherby. “old
people like ourselves often fail to appreciate the light-heartedncss of youth. quilc forgot- ting that we were once young. with the same little faults and the some outlook on life. Don't you think you could possibly change your mind?"
"I‘m not in the habit of changing mymind
once it is made up," replied Andrew. "And, anyhow, whose will is it-yours or mine?"
Mr. Wetherby laughed and rubbed his
hands together.
‘.‘Exceilent!" he exclaimed. as though An-
drew had been joking. "Why, its your will, to be sure. But I am sorely tempted to bog of you not to alter it. Why, the young man may consider it a good picture-perhaps his best-one that he is proud of-You probably havent thought of that," ~‘
"No," replied Andrew, "for the simple rea-
son that. I have secn the picture . . . . . The will, I presime. is in your safe?"
"Quite right, Mr. Small," said the lawyer.
"lt is in my safe."
But he made no effort to take it from its
resting-place. Itaiiier he pursued his intcn~ tion of mukirg Andrew change his mind.
"You haven‘t forgotten that it is Christ-
mas-time, I hope?" hc suggested. "Rather a hard thing 'to do to a young man at such A time. I'm afraid he will not ha‘.'e a very merry Chz‘istm:1s."
"Well, hes had plenty already. it I know
anything about him" retort/ed Andrew.
"All, well, youth will be served," was all
that Mr. Wc.".tlici‘hy could think of with which to counter this. Then lic Continued! "Bug my d:ar'Mv. Small, let us leave it over till alter Christmas." "ny which time I may be dead." Put 1"
Andrew. _
"\‘Vi1cn it wouldnt really matter." added
the utwycr, thereby drawing a 1‘apici~-like glance from his client. "Far better, however, to dismiss the idea, and give him 0i1_¢ m0i'¢ ¢,|-m“¢¢_ Lg; me deal with him. I Will UC N Santa Claus. and give him E00<_l “CWS fm Christmas morning- and 9 Niece of my mmd
as well."
“Santa Claus be bothered!" exclaimed An-
drew. "l'm surprised at an old man like YOU talking such rubbish. Perhaps you think this unsophisticatcd young man still hangs up his stocking and believes in stories. Come,
come. Mr. Wetherby. Come, come."
Mr. Wetherby was about to rcsuinc his
attack, but Andrew motioned to him to be
Silent.
"Listen, I will tell you a few facts of his
career," lic- said. “He was, as you know, sent down from Cambridge. Not that that matters very much, for I was sent down my- self. . . No _ , .No. . . Let me continue. He was next up at Marlborough Police Court for being found drinking at at night club at the hour of midnight . . . What's thot? Yes. 1 know it/s nearly midnight now, but We are not in a night club drinking beer and things. Next he goes in for this foolish art affair and then appears at my housc with a crop- ped-haired girl wearing a collar and a tic and smoking a cigarette out of it holder st yard long. It even made my cook laugh- However, I believe he gave that tip, because the next I heard was that he was having an affair with a vicarls daughter in Shrop-
shire-"
"Certainly a change," Mr. Wetherby man-
aged io get in.
"A great change." agreed Andrew, “and
not before it was needed. Ibclicvc that nf-
falr is still going on."
"Well, in that case," said Mr. Wetherby:
"you are going to make two people happy over Christmas, iustelid of just cnc. Pcrlmps this vlcars daughter is a clmrlning and swcet~hcartcd girl. They can be, you know."
"Fidd2lestlcks!" exclaimed Andrew, and
then at that moment a though came to Mr. Weatherby which made him laugh outright at the fact. of it not coming before. lie made what seemed lo bc a gesture of amused
despair.
"Ah. well, Mr. small." he said, "I can ace
you are adamant, and, as your solicitor, I
must obey your instructions."
Sc saying. he rose from his chair and
crossed the room to the safe. from which
he extracted Andrew smells will.
"lf you will give me a few minutes I will
add a paragraph revoking .lacks legacies."
he said.
A little lat/cr hc read out to Andrew the
wording which he had pcncliled on the will. Al.dlv.‘w agreed to it and Mr. Wetherby inked
in the words.
"There, now," said Andrew, “I think that
. I
§&§&§$&&$&&%%t%%kk§&$
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_.V ,.. __ ,- _ .._~,.~ _ -__ __ _ _ _ _
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will make the l'0ung man keep his picture; at home in future."
Then Mr. Wetherby gave a gasp, "Wc'vc no witness!" he exclaimed. “Dem-,
clear, now we will have to walt till tomorrow, at least," .mmwmwommn
~ ~ e clay was better than nnthtng
There “'35 “1“`H.\'s thc rhance that some. lhnig uiilorscell might happen.
Caiiliut wc get someone from your house7'» "T°° iam" ffiliiied Mr. Westlierby. "My
wife will be in bed and asleep, and ch, maid will be the same. No, I'm afraid it will have to wait,"
For a Icu' nhnutes thc two men gat m
silence. In the wainscoting 3 ra; was gm W. ing a beam. It sounded uncanny. Like some- ‘me -"a“'i“H through a bone, an Andrew rg. Hiufkud. Tho wind, wliicli had been lilgli all tho cvcniiu: had now increased, mid scciiiafl to be \'.-lii.<;ilmg a <l_ifIc1'<*ut tune tlirough ev-
ery crack unc! cranny in llle old building,
"A nasty night," commented Andrea,-_ 3,
shiver running through his spare fram¢_ Tiicn he ,<'.:titirnl_\'s.1t upright and mg.” an
cizclainalloil.
"Hu.'»li!" he wliispcrccl. "'l`liere is someone
movlng about outside."
Bu: all- Mr, Wetherby could hear was the
rat .fcuflliug a`oou'. behind the boards. And
at that iuomcui tiic door swung silently open, if-tilng u bla.: of cold an' lub the warm, dimly lzglilcrl room. For Mr. Wetherby ai- ways turned clown his lamp when in con- rcrsaiiou. lt heightened thc farm-house
effort.. llc raid.
At thc luumt-nt liic floor upcncil. Audrcuv
stood alert. for hc saw before him a .seedy- lcoking individual who had come into the room. Grey was the new-comer's face, as Andrew saw it in the soft light; lean and lingual-rl the face. and ti'ollb_lccl the eyes. llc reminded Andrew nf queer seedy fellows lic had sometimes seen in Fleet Street close by. Perhaps this was a broken journalist.
"Good evening," said Andrew: but he get
no rctliy. Mr. Wetherby was now standing
up iikc\\'isc.
"Wou`t you sit down?" added Andrew and
the man slowly crossed thc room and seateri himscif in a chair. Andrew heard the words "thank you." come faintly. Then he had an
iclcn. and, for once. laughed.
"Why, you‘\'e just como in time tn witness
a will," hc said. "Would you mind doing lt?"
"Please do," urged Mr. Wetherby, but it
was to Andrew that the man replied.
"I will," and prescntlv Andrew was sign-
ing ins own name. alter winch he pa.=.scd the will to the man to sign. Andrew was
surprised at the name. _
“Tollcmachc," he exclaimed. “Howstrai\ge,
mine is Smill. There was once a cas-e---
why nel. gone! What an czclranrdinary fel- low. Docs lic often come ull iil'l`€ like mai?"
“Titanic Goodness, no!" refilled MY- Wi-`U1'
erby nosuly, folding up the will- "Anyiw\v.
nes sci-vt-<1 our l1i\1'uo5r."`
A little later Andrew Small had BUNC-
Then Mr; Wcghgy-‘,;y took up the will :ind
regarded it curiously. -
There was no signature "”.l'oilemache." Nor
had there been. Nor. even, had Mr. Weth-
gylyy expected to see one.
My W¢;,h¢.rb_v know all about iii? Tolle-
machc ghost, and he knew that it had 'ali- peared to Andrew Small and had lcd him into thinking that the will was witnessed . . . . Small versus Tollemache . , . . W€`ll. T059'
mache had won this time . . .
The following n10\'ilii`iK lvfmffby l"”rd
that Andrew Small was dead. The excito- ment of the evenings Work had D99" lm’ much. Mr. Wetherby stroked his chin in amazement. Then he smiled philosophic-
ll '. . shall bc Santa Claus.¥iiici' nil." no mur- murcd,
vvtsc Mcfrliom THE wr-;sT
(Continued From Page One)
Another great mind who BU? ill? “'°(’n\d
a gift at Christmas was the famous histor_. ii cn-mc. at the age or slxtl'-ooo bf ilililfiied me great liist0i'_\' and Mrs. Grote sa.d.w d-it member we had a bowl of Di-imh me ° ‘
Christmas for our little household at Hls‘.cry
of
lint, in celebration of the comPl¢¢l°5 th pus m,..nu.<. Grote himself sil'ii>ll'iB me
e o
“endow ,n;;mn,,, N-U), great satisfaction.
while manifesting little emotion oulv~'a\‘d».\'- though I could detect unmistakeable signs oi inward complacency as I d°5°““'”d “l’°“_f“° ham,\m~_=_e of our ltvlnlf i0 50° lm’ 5”'
on whilf- tru- Christmas bell inevitably send
nu; .h,,,,R\,¢,= bark to the wise Men of the Fast it may lx* a stiniilltaiiig little interlude -,(1 inur ni-csldc reflections. to recall that SUICG zum the wnrlfl has also received hlstorlo
gifts from wise men of the west- *_ _
5 ~"‘ .
._~`
` if- ,
_ -~=_~ ' ze.
. _ ' __ .t yea
_ L_ __________ _ _ t
First. Caddie (at Christmas dinner
aztraciecl by veteran's method of dealing with his gravy): "Look at ovrd Sandy!"
Second Caddie: "wot about 'tml' Fu-st Caddie: "why, he`s gaelng
all the way roond wi' his iron:
-t
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