The Shape of Fear [15]
here in the car!" Bill turned his surly face to confront the young conductor. "You've been drinking, you fool," said he. "Fust thing you know you'll be reported." The conductor said not a word. He went slowly and weakly back to his post and stood there the rest of the way leaning against the end of the car for support. Once or twice he muttered: "The poor little brat!" And again he said, "So you didn't love me after all!" He never knew how he reached home, but he sank to sleep as dying men sink to death. All the same, being a hearty young man, he was on duty again next day but one, and again the night was rainy and cold. It was the last run, and the car was spin- ning along at its limit, when there came a sudden soft shock. John Billings knew what that meant. He had felt something of the kind once before. He turned sick for a moment, and held on to the brake. Then he summoned his courage and went around to the side of the car, which had stopped. Bill, the driver, was before him, and had a limp little figure in his arms, and was carry- ing it to the gaslight. John gave one look and cried: "It's the same kid, Bill! The one I told you of!" True as truth were the ragged coat dangling from the pitiful body, the little blue hands, the thin shoulders, the stringy hair, the big arctics on the feet. And in the road not far off was the curious chest of dark wood with iron hasps. "She ran under the car deliberate!" cried Bill. "I yelled to her, but she looked at me and ran straight on!" He was white in spite of his weather-beaten skin. "I guess you wasn't drunk last night after all, John," said he. "You -- you are sure the kid is -- is there?" gasped John. "Not so damned sure!" said Bill. But a few minutes later it was taken away in a patrol wagon, and with it the little box with iron hasps.
THE ROOM OF THE EVIL THOUGHT
THEY called it the room of the Evil Thought. It was really the pleas- antest room in the house, and when the place had been used as the rectory, was the minister's study. It looked out on a mournful clump of larches, such as may often be seen in the old-fash- ioned yards in Michigan, and these threw a tender gloom over the apartment. There was a wide fireplace in the room, and it had been the young minister's habit to sit there hours and hours, staring ahead of him at the fire, and smoking moodily. The replenishing of the fire and of his pipe, it was said, would afford him occupation all the day long, and that was how it came about that his parochial duties were neglected so that, little by little, the people became dis- satisfied with him, though he was an eloquent young man, who could send his congregation away drunk on his influence. However, the calmer pulsed among his parish began to whisper that it was indeed the influence of the young minister and not that of the Holy Ghost which they felt, and it was finally decided that neither animal magnetism nor hypnotism were good substitutes for religion. And so they let him go. The new rector moved into a smart brick house on the other side of the church, and gave receptions and dinner parties, and was punctilious about making his calls. The people therefore liked him very much -- so much that they raised the debt on the church and bought a chime of bells, in their enthu- siasm. Every one was lighter of heart than under the ministration of the previous rector. A burden appeared to be lifted from the com- munity. True, there were a few who con- fessed the new man did not give them the food for thought which the old one had done, but, then, the former rector had made them uncomfortable! He had not only made them conscious of the sins of which they were already guilty, but also of those for which they had the latent capacity. A strange and fatal man, whom women loved to their sor- row, and whom simple men could not under- stand! It was generally agreed that the parish was well rid of him. "He was a genius," said the people in commiseration. The word was an uncom- plimentary epithet with them. When the Hanscoms moved in the house which had been the old rectory,
THE ROOM OF THE EVIL THOUGHT
THEY called it the room of the Evil Thought. It was really the pleas- antest room in the house, and when the place had been used as the rectory, was the minister's study. It looked out on a mournful clump of larches, such as may often be seen in the old-fash- ioned yards in Michigan, and these threw a tender gloom over the apartment. There was a wide fireplace in the room, and it had been the young minister's habit to sit there hours and hours, staring ahead of him at the fire, and smoking moodily. The replenishing of the fire and of his pipe, it was said, would afford him occupation all the day long, and that was how it came about that his parochial duties were neglected so that, little by little, the people became dis- satisfied with him, though he was an eloquent young man, who could send his congregation away drunk on his influence. However, the calmer pulsed among his parish began to whisper that it was indeed the influence of the young minister and not that of the Holy Ghost which they felt, and it was finally decided that neither animal magnetism nor hypnotism were good substitutes for religion. And so they let him go. The new rector moved into a smart brick house on the other side of the church, and gave receptions and dinner parties, and was punctilious about making his calls. The people therefore liked him very much -- so much that they raised the debt on the church and bought a chime of bells, in their enthu- siasm. Every one was lighter of heart than under the ministration of the previous rector. A burden appeared to be lifted from the com- munity. True, there were a few who con- fessed the new man did not give them the food for thought which the old one had done, but, then, the former rector had made them uncomfortable! He had not only made them conscious of the sins of which they were already guilty, but also of those for which they had the latent capacity. A strange and fatal man, whom women loved to their sor- row, and whom simple men could not under- stand! It was generally agreed that the parish was well rid of him. "He was a genius," said the people in commiseration. The word was an uncom- plimentary epithet with them. When the Hanscoms moved in the house which had been the old rectory,