Short Story.

Western Star, Issue 2220, 8 July 1898, Page 4

Short Story.

e Spawn of Fortune.

; don't know much about firearms, would like you to pick me out what consider a good weapon." le salesman ran his eye along the

B of revolvers. This is one I can recommend," he I. Its barrel glinred blue, its stock > pricked out in nickel, and its hani- • filled with a glittering cylinder like nose of a ferret in a rat-hole. Ah, yes, that looks all right. Is it led ? No. Kindly explain to me v the trick is done." fter he had seen the cartridges wed into the chambers and had paid ■ price, Arthur Brackenbridge slipped s weapon into his breast pocket, made ; way along the Strand, and, turning arply down Villiers-street, entered j underground station. 'Earl's Court, first return," he said at 8 pigeon-hole, but he hastily corrected mself. " No, not return ; single I jan. Earl's Court, first single." He pocketed the ticket, grinning rueUy as he said to himself, " The rern. will be a free journey this time, I hagine." Half-way down the dirty airs that lead to the platform he sudjnly paused. " What in the world possessed me to

.ke a first ? Third would have done

le quite as well. What an ass I am toay. Ah, well. I have lived in this -orld first-class, and may as well go ut of it first-class." A few waiting passengers-sauntered p and down the platform, smoke hung n fantastic blue whiffs, writhing and wisting and swirling lazily towards the ■oof, and the gas burned yellow in the jreat glass globes that hung above the footway. The ticket inspector at the :oot of the stairs, his punch dangling lo lis fingers, carried on a flirtation with a tmxoin wench of serving-maid class. "Besides, it will look better on the evening paper bill. ' Suicide in a Thirdclass Underground' seems cheap. Few persons of class enter the underground, and none travels third. Substitute first for third, and well—it should make a rattier taking bill, you know." At this point in his soliloquy Arthur Brackenbridge became aware of a curious growling rumble that rapidly grew into a roar, and as if in fear of this ominous sound the black tunnel began to vomit smoke that gushed out in a. dense cloud-bank. At last two yellow eyes trembled and blinked in the darkness, and the next instant a Richmond train came wheezing, rocking, screeching, and grinding out of the blackness, and stopped with a jerk at the platform. Brackenbridge .ran nimbly along the carriages and jumped into the first empty compartment. Placing his hat in the rack he let down the window and stuck his head far out. as though looking for a friend—a trick much resorted to by lovers and schoolboys who wish a compartment in themselves. On this occasion, however, the stratagem was unavailing. At the moment the train was about to move on a brawny man rushed past the ticket inspector, and, grasping the handle of the door, gave it such a lightning-like twist and pull that had 'Brackenbridge not drawn in bis head With rapidity he must have found himself at full length on the platform. Without one word of apology the stranger shut the door with a bang, and Hung himself into a corner, never once glancing at the young man. who stood in the middle of the compartment looking the anger he felt. To Arthur Brackenbridge's way of thinking, the entrance of this stranger was abrupt to an uncalledfor degree, and the thought of how narrowly he had escaped being flung out of the carriage determined him to remonstrate. So he opened by saying in his decided manner, emphasised by the anber that was in him : "My seat, sir."

The stranger glanced up ; his eyes were bloodshot, and his features* set and hard. He said nothing, however, and sat tight. '.' My seat, sir." This time the stranger did not even condescend so much as a glance. "For the first time I tell you that you are in my seat. If you doubt me, my hat. on the rack above will prove what I say."

Without a word the follow Hung him self into the opposite corner.

"Gad, he's a cool customer," Arthur muttered as he took the seat vacated by the stranger.

The man sat or rather lay along the cushion, his two hands deep into his trousers' pockets and his eyes fixed on his foot as it rose and fell to the rocking of the carriage. He was a man past middle life, fairly well dressed, and .sturdily built. "11l startle this cold-blooded fellow before I'm through with him," Arthur Brackenbridge thought. Leaning forward he addressed the .sullen man : " I would like you to change compartments at the next station."

The man stared angrily at the speaker. " And I shall do nothing of the kind," he replied decisively.

" I advise you, sir, for your own comfort, to change." " I look after my comfort without assistance from others. I shall not change." "As you please." Brackenbrfilge replied in a careless tone. The train crunched, and ground, and shuddered, and came to a standstill at Westminster Bridge. Arthur Brackenbridge spoke : "Allow me, sir, to advise you again to change carriages. It will not put you to much trouble and may save you a lot. 1 speak in all good faith." The heavy man ran his eye over the other, and there was unspeakable scorn in flie glance. Then he again turned his attention to the dancing boot. When •the train disappeared into the tunnel Arthur Brackenbridgc sat up. "As you have seen fit to disregard my advice, given, as i before said, in all good faith, I can only hope, sir, that you do not object to me committing suicide. I intend to blow my brains out before we reach St. James's Park Station."

The surly man leapt wildly to his feet. He threw open the carriage door and the roar of the tunnel drowned Biackenbridge's cry to "Stay." Steam and smoke in a purple cloud, and sulphur smells belched in and tilled the compartment. The younger man had grasped hold of the other's arm. At last the door was shut, and the two stood facing each other. Brackenbridge grinned. "I gave you fair warning. It crossed my mind that you might prefer to be elsewhere "

" What do you mean ? You are not going to kill yourself ?" "Ah, but I am." "Good heavens, man, you're crazy!" " Ye I ', speak like a coroner's jury, sir. As a matter of truth and of fact I am

not crazy, but I'm terribly sane, which, as far as I can make out, amounts to pretty much the same thing in this world. It is only the insane that would try to live after the events of this awful day. I'm too sane to attempt t'o do .so." The elder glowered into the of the younger. He was much the taller of the two and had to stoop low.

•' Whom have you done for?" he asked abruptly.

" What do you mean ?" The young man felt/ a 'tjrifle uneasy under the other's bloodshot eyes. " "Whom have you made away with ? What did he do to you to make you do the deed ?"

The fellow stepped hurriedly back into the corner, and looked about him as though he feared he had been overheard. Arthur Brackenbridge blurted out :

" What the deuce do you mean, sir. 'Done for?' 'Made away with?' What an idea ! You're crazy now, instead of me. It is I have been murdered, foully and brutally murdered. Yes, sir, twice this day. But here we are at St. James's* and the little affair not done. I trust to your honour not to say a word to the guard, for as sure as he comes forme I shall fire, and in my hurry may make a mess of it, you know. Now, out you get, that's a good fellow, and God bless you, sir. For some reason quite' unexplainable I wish to be alone when, When—well, good-bye." The surly man stepped out, walked a dozen feet towards the exit, paused for a second or'two, and then hurriedly retraced his steps, entered the compartment and shut, the door after him. "No, may I be hanged if I leave you." Brackenbridge sat wearily back in the cushions. The stranger stood looking down upon him. "Postpone the deed for just oue.station more. I want to speak with you. May I ?" Brackenbridge nodded an enforced affirmation, and the heavy man seating himself a silence followed. At length the stranger said : •' There is but one crime in the long calendar the devil has prepared for us that warrants a man taking his lite. • • yes V What is that crime, may I

ask ?" " Murder." "My dear sir," said Brackenbridge. sitting up. and speaking with animation. "My dear sir, a murderer has no need to kill himself." " You mean soeiety will do the job tor hi in ?" •' Not at all ; I mean quite a different thing. A murderer dies the instant his victim dies." " 0 ! indeed. I did not know that. "Tt is so, nevertheless. A murderer mav walk about, and be to all outward appearances alive, but as a matter of fact he is as dead as Pharaoh. His hold on the 'world is relaxed. His selfrespect is dead ; his manliness is dead, his liberty is dead ; his ease of mind has been slain by the self-same blow that slew his victim ; everything that constitutes life is slain, and lies dead within him. a rubbish heap with his heart, a core of hateful lire smouldering beneath it all. Breathing, working, walking, talking, seeing—all such things are but the incidents of life. A life of falsehood and subterfuge, of wildly fleeing from a consequence, is death in its most awful form." Brackenbridge spoke rapidly and with bitter vehemence. " I toll you," he continued, " murder changes a man from a living being to a. craven coward, a coward who fears to live, and fears to die." T;ho 'heavy man salt in silence for some moments.

" It seems lo me," he .said at length, "that one who contemplates suicide i-s a, still more deplorable creature than a murderer."

I don't see matters in that light at

all." , . " Well, I think you will agree that one who .has committed murder may, at least, be presumed to have been brave at the moment of the deed."

" I suppose there is something uncanny about taking human life that demands valour of one kind or another," assented Brackenbridge. "But with suicide it is altogether different." <-A<>ntiiuufid the stranger. "The actuating impulse is cowardice, pure and simple, a weak determination to escape threatened pains of body or of mind. But I maintain thai to deliberately, w:it!h iwenwditalfk'n, .slay a fellow man calls forth on.? glorious outburst of manhood, one period of physical triumph, of mental exultation, ineffable, supreme; a moment when a man's feet are on the spheres, when his head is ablaze in the sun. his soul is a great licking, rolling crimson flame, and 'his arms are reached down through endless space to the spinning world, and bis fingers creep among the crowd to clutch his shrieking victim, clutch him. and roll him in the palms, crush Ids bones, squeeze him.crunch him, and roll him again and agaiu, and work him gradually, gloatingly, towards the finger tips to hurl him, a pulpy mass, into .space and everlasting blackness. Ah ! I call that, a supreme moment, when the crimson tlame of soul-fire leaps through the .smoke-clouds of a smouldering life to the very sky !" (To be concluded.)