The Art of Disappearing

n of Horace, also of the affections of the tavern-keeper, and of the best things which belonged to that yokel and his hostelry. It was prosperity in

e with the Monsignor, who at no time had displayed any other feeling than might arise from a long acquaintance with the young man. One

if Endicott had no other interest in life than this particular form of excellence.

im Hurley," said the pagan Endicott, "but I am curious, if you will pardon me,

all his faith Tim Hurley could not have welcomed priest and oils more than I shall when I need them. The anguish of death is very bitter, which you are too young to know, and it is a bl

minister to a

he memory a

judgment, come in and see how emphatically I shall demand t

nted, "very strange. I cannot ge

Horace. In the priest and his conversation he had caught a glimpse of a new world both strange and fascinating. Curious too was the profound indifference of men like himself-college men-to its existence. It did not seem possible that the Roman idea could grow into proportions under the bilious eyes of the omniscient Saxon

hich had been secured from the landlord was the parlor of the tavern; long and low, colonial in the very smell of the tapestry carpet, with doors and mantel that made one think of John Adams and General Washington. The walls had a certain terror in them, a kind of suspense, as when a jury sits petrified while their foreman announces a verdict of death. A long line of portraits in oil produced this impression. The

ep to-night," he said to the pri

ts were discussing the sacrilege of the Monsignor's presence. Horace thought at the time his nerves were strung tight by the incidents of the day, and his interest deeply stirred by the conversation of the priest; since hitherto he had always thought of wind as a thing that blew disagreeably except at sea, noisy insects as public nuisances t

w all about you. See now if I give you

the picture-jury frowning on him. H

he said to the portraits, "if you were to sit upon my

ughed t

of your marrow. Here is an example of it. Once on a vacation I spent a few weeks in the house of a Puritan lady, who learned of my faith and blood only a week before my leaving. She had been very kind, and when I bade her good-by I assu

to admit th

nd, where you were certain a glory, felt only in your dreams, filled the land. The fishes only could do that, for they had no feet to be tired by walking. Your first mystery was that wheel which the water turned: a monstrous thing, a giant, ugly and deadly, whose first movement sent you off in terro

ers stretched out beyond the others, and

country invited his chums

his oppression of the most helpless boy in school. That feat made you the leader of the secret society which met at awful hours in the deserted shanty just below the sawmill. What a creep went up and down your spine as in the chill of the evening the boys came stealing out of the undergrowth one by one, and greeted their chief with the password, known by every parent in town. The stars looked down upon you as they must hav

me. And your father loved you doubly that you were his son and owned her nature. He fell in battle, and she was slain by a crueller foe, the grief that, seizing us, will not let us live even for those we love. God rest the faithful dead, give peace to their souls, and complete their lov

he nearest portrait

of my acquaintance with

race impressed. "It is like necromanc

aterial. Everything and anything that could carry a gun in the recent war was American with a vengeance. The Boston Coriolanus kissed such an one and swore that

said Horace, "how did

ight at tea about the hanging of Howard Tims, what disgust in your tone when

ere sho

I met him for an hour, and I

e a cel

e the other night. I would like to have helped him. I have a theory of disappearing from the sight of men, which would help the desperate much. This Tims was

onsignor?" said Horace. "

ave been caught. And as I maintained, simply because he would never think of using his slight acquaintance with me. You smile at that. So did my friends. I have been reading up the escapes of famous criminals-it is quite a literature. I learned therein one thing: that they were all caught again because they could not give up connection with their past: with the people, the scenes, the habits to which they had been acc

race, "and yet they are caught as e

friends-not so easy-and chiefly from himself-there's the rub. He who flies from the relentless pursuit of the law must practically die. He must change his country, never meet friend or relative again, get a new language, a new trade, a new place in society; in fact a new past, pe

d; "but the theory is impossible. No o

of Judy Trainor, who has been expecting a sick son from California, a boy who disappeared ten years previous and is probably dead. I arrange her expectation, and the neighbors are invited to rejoice with her over the finding of her son. He spends a month or two in the house recovering from his illness, and when he appears in public he knows as mu

p a shout at this

nsequences as dark as th

h a wave of his hand, "sleeping und

orace, "little he thought

that suffers by his absence. He is with God. Death is the one moment

olonial bed, when Horace began to laugh softly to himself. He kept up

share in that chuck

give this insult to your pious memory-that I sh

o fine boys like us should be kept apart by that awful spirit which prompts men to hat

ok the human in a man. Let me thank you, Monsignor, for this opening of my eyes. I shall never

ng the air with truth, because others beat it with lies. We can't help but rejoice

erpret their unconscious movings. The trained and spiritual ear might have caught the faint sighs and velvet footsteps of long-departed souls, or interpreted them out of the sighing and whispering of the leaves outside the window, and the tread of nervous mice in the fireplace. The dawn came and lighted up the faces of the men, faces rising out of the heavy dark like a revela

ng after breakfast,

ou wish to disapp

do the act, that I might see you carr

break her heart," he replied sadly, "and then to

s, which for his life he could not explain, "the comfo

nd their eyes expressed the same t