GHOST on the AIR

Auckland Star, Volume LXX, Issue 303, 23 December 1939, Page 7 (Supplement)

GHOST on the AIR

BY RICIIAHIk HAESTIRR

SHORT SIIOItT STORY

T is quite churlish the way we Ik [' n « l,sh [efuse to talk to fellow m £ uman beings unless we have A u pr ° perl y introduced. 1 had « been cobitating over that thought tor half an hour. And with good reason. For that length of time I had been sitting opposite a solitary traveller on the boat train from Plymouth to Paddington, and although there were only the two of us in a comfortable firstclass compartment, neither of us had spoken a word. My companion was a young man of, I should sny not more than 30. lie was a hefty-looking , !" W ' f K stran » el y pale. In fact, the pi.vsiquc eon, 1 ,, cn ' contradicted his fine J'™ strange thing about him him attracted my attention to Micro ho sat, in the opposite corner, n]innst motionless, neither smoking nor le.iding and with his eyes fixed on inunity, o« photographers say. He worried 1110 a little, and at last I smiled a bit anfl Rave vcnt ' linlf apologcticJill.v, to my thoughts. ' Wo English aro a funny lot, aren't wo 7 I ventured. -We travel together for miles like this without scratching up anv sort of con- \ orsation, I added. "Wo never talk to strangers although I don't know why. I " "° to talk. I' m dead," replied tho young man. "Well " 1 began, but I could not finish the sentence. As I have said, he did not look well, so I started to etuttor something else. Right or no right," I remarked, "you ''.111 talk, and, I must say, you look pretty hefty for a ghost." At which remark I laughed rather dryly and awkwardly. I was killed in a railway accident lln eo months ago," declared my travelling companion. "And as for talking, I have certainly done a lot. since I died. In fact, I've made nearly half a million dollars doing nothing olse. That's why I'm' coming homo. At least, that's half the reason. The other half i*. to give a friend of mine a shock—juet .to get my own back." ° "A nasty evil sort of ghost," I commented. "And I suppose that when we get to Paddington, instead of giving up your ticket you'll de-materialise and v a nish." Jfe thought that funny, for lie laughed loudly. It was a strong laugh; nothing sepulchral about it. '\So you think I'm a ghost," he chuckled. "Do you believe in ghosts?" "You must be a ghost if yqu have Ix-cn dead for three months," I replied. "That's what I thought," he said, "but I've given up beins a ghost. It's too dangerous. The police nearly got me." Whereupon ho laughed again. It waa nnt an insane laugh, but a hearty, wholesome one. "I'll tell you the whole story," ho said. "That is, if you are interested. Otherwise you'll think I'm mad. Not that that would matter much, but you might finish up by pulling tho communication cord —which would bo inconvenient for you, for me and for all the other passengers on the train." Ho stretched himself out more comfortably in his seat, wrapped his coat more cosily round his legs and started. "I used to bo a newspaper reporter, on the 'Daily Surprise,' in London," he began. "You know the 'Surprise.' Everything it prints is a sensation and II nine days' wonder. Those are the two essentials they demand of any story they print. It must make people talk, and then the public may forget it before an apology or explanation or denial has to bo printed. "Maybe it was just because I was a bad reporter, or it may be I had some slight regard for the truth, but I could ft* 3* 3* 4* 4

never seem to get the sort of story they w anted. In fact, I was a 'flop' as a newspaper man. Heaven knows I tried hard enough, but I was about due for the 'sack.' On the day I should have been 'fired,' however, the news editor saw a paragraph in the early edition, and he called me in and showed it to me. to the effect that a notorious gangster in America was due for release from Alcntraz in four weeks' time. , ." T , he ncwa editor was frank about it. '\ou're a rotten reporter,' he told me. 'In fact, I had made tip my mind to 'fire' you, but then I changed my mind. I saw that paragraph, and it occurred to me that no one could be as bad a newspaper man a3 you. " 'Yovf haven't had any "breaks." That's all there is wrong with you. So here's your chance. Catch the next boat to America and interview that gangs'ter when he comes out of gaol. Get his life story—and you'll be made. You'll have a job for life on the "Surprise.'" "So, to cut a long story short, I collected a packet of money, looked up the gangster's haunts in the library cuttings and found that lie was most likely to return to Chicago, and caught a boat to New York. "I think I must have been a pretty good newspaper man, after all, because I not only found my gangster, but I talked to him. But there was nothing doing about the life story. In fact, he would not talk at all, except to say, 'Looksee here, buddy. Be a wise guy, will yer? Keep yer nose clean and beat it, .vill yer?' "Well, I gathered the idea sufficiently to decide that I would rather have the sack than be found at the roadside dead, so I got on the next train out of Chicago. "And I found myself on the train ffoing back to New York with no story. I had returned to the office with no before, but on each' successive occasion I became more depressed. This time I felt terrible. "Then, suddenly, as I sat in the observation car feeling very sorry for myself, there was a terrific crash, and I didn't remember any more." Here was the explanation, I thought. This poor fellow was suffering from loss of memory and hallucinations. And aloud, I remarked: "What wa3 it? A train crash, and you woke up in hospital ?" "It was a train crasTi but I did not wako up in hospital," he said. "As a matter of fact, I woke up in the wreckage. I was shaken and bruised, but not seriously hurt. Several people were injured pretty badly and taken off in ambulances, but nt> one was killed, so far a« I could discover. "Naturally, although I was not a very good newspaperman, my first idea was to cable the story of the crash to my paper. Then a brilliant idea came to me. The 'Daily Surprise' specialised in sensational stories. I would cable my news editor such a sensational yarn that even he would be flummoxed. So I sat down on the railway embankment and

thought out a carefully worded cable. This is what I sent to the 'Daily Surprise,' London. "'I was killed this morning and several passengers were injured when a train from Chicago was wrecked in a collision outside Albany. You will probably never receive this message. I am trying hard to get it through to you. If it arrives you will know that I turned in at least one "hot" story.' "Then I signed it and laughed my head off trying to imagine the look on the old man's face when he received that cable. And I imagined the sore temptation he would have to use it as 'Sensational Story of the First News Message from the Other World!* "Well, I found a cable office and handed in my message. I expected the cable clerk to refuse it, but, like all his kind, he was only interested in the number of words and counted them backwards. So he did not read the message. In case of inquiries that might stop the cablc from getting through to London, however, I asked him to be kind enough to read it. He did so and stared at me as if I were crazy.

"'Who's sending this message?' he asked. " 'I am,' I assured him. "'Oh, yeh?' he replied. 'Whose leg ; d'you think you're pullin'?' " Now listen,' I told him. "It ie important that that message gets through : as written. It's in code and a two million deal depends on it.' "The cable clerk assured me he would mark it as code so that there would be 1 no queries to hold it up. Then, having played my joke on the man who was 1 going to 'fire' me, I wandered off. At J first I etill intended to come home at once. Then I remembered America was called the land of opportunity, and as I was out of work 1 might just as well 1 stay In the States. "So I wandered from place to place ' till at last I found myself in Kansas < City. Then what do you suppose hap- i pencd?" "I've no idea," T replied. "Did you find you were really in hospital after < all!" * W J. J. J. -A-

He laughed heartily. "I found I was famous!" he declared. "That old fool in London had had the nerve to print the story. American correspondents in London had copied it and cabled it back to the American papers and my name was all over the front pages! Lots of them were running 'stunts/ pretending to get in touch with the 'dead newsman,' who 'remembered the journalists' code' even after he had passed over—never miss the edition! "I tell you, I roared with laughter. I bought all the papers I could find on the bookstalls. By killing myself I had bceome an internationally famous newspaperman. "But in the middle of all my laughter I was struck with the idea that, if I were famous I should be making a lot of money. America, it s«emed was •trying to get in touch with my ghost. All right. They could get in touch with me—at a price. "I telephoned my publicity pal in New York, told him I had a scheme to make us a million dollars and begged him to fly out to Kansas City. These American publicity boys would fly twice round the world non-stop for much less than a million, so this one catne. "Meanwhile, I went into hiding in a furnished bed-sitting room on the outskirts of Kansas. The only thing I demanded was a telephone in the room, and when my publicity friend arrived I explained the whole scheme to him. It was simple. He would go back to New York and fix up a studio from where he would' try to get into touch with me on the 'other side.' - "In a day or two, lie Would announce that he had succeeded in establishing communication. Then he would fix a loud-speaker to his telephone and invite people in to hear me talk from the other world. Of course, all I had to do was to put through a telephone call at prearranged times and talk on the longdistance 'phone. "Everything worked out as planned. And, of course, as we anticipated, every radio advertiser in America wanted to sign up this wonderful ghost; "Well, my pal sold me to the highest bidder. I broadcast every night, and for some weeks I was the sensation of America. Everybody listened in to the broadcasting ghost. Money was pouring iirto our banking account. "But after a while I began to feel the strain. Jiemember, to keep the swindle going I had to hide in my little bedsitting room. 1 hardly went out because I was scared people would recognise me, or recognise my voice if I talked to any one. So I only crept out occasionally at night. I became so pale I got to look like a ghost, and presently I became so fed up that I began to think of a good way to wind up the sensation. "But I did not get the chance. One night I was broadcasting from my little bed-sitting room, over the telephone, when there was a knock at the door. Because I was talking to millions of listeners I could not answer the knock and I had forgotten to lock the door. So the old landlady came in. "I shall never forget the look on her face. Her wireless in the living-room was turned on and she looked first at me, then at the loud-speaker and then back at me. What I was saying into the telephone was coming out on her set! "First she screamed. Millions of Americans must have heard that scream. I was so scared I hung up. Then the old lady let loose. She suddenly realised I was a fake and kicked up a devil of a row. She threatened to expose me and goodness knows what else. Eventually I gave her some money to shut her up. "But I had had a narrow squeak and if I had stayed in Kansas I should have been open to blackmail. She was a wicked old woman for a landlady. So I cleared out to New York as fast as I could, collected my share of the proceeds of the swindle, and caught the next boat for England. "So now you see," added my voluble ghost, "I did die three months ago. And that's why I came home."