AN APPARITION.
Not a little to their satisfaction, they found that one of the card
rooms upstairs was unoccupied. Not wishing to be seen at the bar by
acquaintances, as they were beginning to feel that their faces bore the
stamp of guilt, they made haste to mount the stairs to that little room
where they could seclude themselves and order such drinks as they
fancied might steady their shaken nerves.
Mike and Duncan stuck to whisky, but Du Boise called for an absinthe
frappé.
“There’s nothing like it,” he asserted. “I’ve tried everything when my
nerves needed bracing.”
“It’s a deadly poison,” said Ditson. “I see they’re trying to pass a law
in France that will make the manufacture of absinthe unlawful in one
year and the sale unlawful in two years. Absinthe is one of the most
potent influences in the degeneracy of the drinking people of France.
Why, man alive, if you were to give a horse an ounce or two of absinthe,
it would throw the animal into convulsions and might cause its death. If
you yourself were to drink it the way you would swallow a drink of
whisky, the chances are it would knock you stiff.”
At this Harold simply shrugged his shoulders and smiled a pale,
bloodless smile.
“But that’s not the way to drink absinthe,” he said. “The man who drinks
whisky that way simply throws it down his throat in order to get the
effect. To get the effect of absinthe, you sip it slowly. If your nerves
are in a bad state, if your luck is rotten, if the world has turned its
face against you, just try a little absinthe. I need it this minute. It
works like a magic charm. Gradually all the shadows disperse and flee
away, the sun smiles upon you and the weeds beneath your feet blossom
into the most lovely flowers. A sensation of peace and buoyancy and
confidence and contentment gradually pervades your entire being. From a
dark and dreary cave the world changes into a glorious, heaven-smiling
paradise. There’s nothing quite like absinthe to accomplish this
marvelous change.
“I don’t mind telling you, fellows, that I’ve tried almost everything.
Opium works nicely in a way, but it seems to interest you rather too
much in other people. Their pleasures become your pleasures. The most
trivial things are sufficient to amuse you. You watch a laborer and his
wife marketing on a Saturday night, and somehow it is better than the
finest theatrical performance you have ever witnessed. Your heart goes
out to those humble people, and you accept them as kin to you, blood
relatives as it were. A child playing with a top fills you with
unspeakable satisfaction and sympathy. A dove building its nest may
chain your attention for hours. Through such trivial things you are made
supremely content and satisfied.
“Other drugs with which I have experimented produce different effects,
but they all bring about a relapse in time, and you suffer the most
horrible tortures as retaliation for the pleasures that have been yours.
With absinthe I have not yet reached the point where it retaliates and
inflicts torments. It has helped me shake off the grip opium had upon
me. I prefer absinthe to opium.”
“It’s simply a case of taking one poison as an antidote for another,”
said Ditson. “The time will come, Du Boise, when you’ll find your blood
entirely eaten up by the poisons you have absorbed.”
“And by your looks,” said Lynch, “I should say that is not very far
away. Never knew a chap to change the way you have in the past four
months. It’s a wonder to me that you’ve managed to stick in college this
long. Don’t you realize what is coming to you? Can’t you see your
finish?”
“I think I did realize it in time to escape,” said Hal. “I began
experimenting with opium for amusement. I wanted to experience the
effect. I had no idea of letting the stuff get a hold on me, but when I
found it had I fled to absinthe, and absinthe has proved my salvation.”
“It will prove your destruction,” declared Duncan. “You’re its slave
to-day, and you’ll never break away from it. Here are our drinks.”
In the wall a sliding panel shot back, and through the opening could be
seen the face of the waiter who had brought the drinks. He pushed in a
tray, which Lynch received. The drinks were removed from the tray and
placed on the table. Du Boise tossed some money on the tray, which was
then passed back through the opening. The sliding panel closed softly,
and they were again alone.
“Here’s to forgetfulness,” said Du Boise, lifting the glass, which was
filled with fine cracked ice and a greenish-amber liquid. “Here’s to
forgetfulness, but I fear you’ll not find it in the stuff you are
drinking.”
Ditson’s hand shook a bit as he lifted his glass of whisky and literally
tossed it down his throat. Du Boise sipped softly at the absinthe. In a
moment a dreamy light seemed creeping into his faded eyes. Before long a
bit of color mounted into his cheeks.
“Why should we worry about anything in this world or the next, my
friends?” he murmured. “Let’s have another drink. I need just one more.”
In a short time another drink was brought. It was strange to note the
effect of the stuff on those youths. Ditson and Lynch became flushed and
excited, talking with a sort of reckless and fictitious hilarity. Du
Boise, calm, placid, smiling, lay back in his chair and watched them as
if studying them sympathetically, graciously, almost pityingly.
“Now, here,” said Duncan, shaking an uplifted finger, “we’ve got to
stick together on this business. Of course it was an accident, for we
didn’t think either of those fellows would be drowned when we ran them
down. There’s only one way to protect ourselves, and that is to swear
that neither one of us saw the boat until there was no chance to avoid
hitting it. I feel like the devil about this business. To tell you the
truth, I feel like what Buckhart called me—a murderer.”
“Don’t talk that way!” growled Lynch, shrugging his thick shoulders. “I
don’t like it. Even if I didn’t have any love for Merriwell, I wouldn’t
want to kill him, would I? We’re going to have lots of trouble over
this.”
Again Du Boise smiled.
“Don’t worry, my friends,” he said. “Nothing really matters, anyhow.
This life is of no consequence. Perhaps Merriwell is better off this
minute than he would be if he were living. Perhaps he’s thankful for
what happened. I’m sure the dead are better off than the living. Why
should he haunt us? We were foolish to fancy we could feel him following
us through the streets to-night. And even if he were following us, he
could do us no harm. The spirits of the departed cannot harm the living.
Why, I wouldn’t be afraid this minute to stand face to face with
Merriwell’s ghost. If such a thing happened, I would greet the spirit
pleasantly and without the least emotion of terror or dread.”
“The blazes you would!” growled Lynch.
“You’d be scared to death,” asserted Ditson.
“I wish I had power to summon the spirit of Merriwell,” said Du Boise.
“I would show you how mistaken you are. If by a mere incantation I could
bring his wraith before us, I’d joyfully do so.”
Barely were these words spoken when suddenly the electric lights in the
room went out, plunging the place into deep darkness. This was rather
startling and caused the trio to utter exclamations of surprise.
Apparently the electric current had been suddenly turned off.
Lynch made a move to rise from the table. Ere he could do this the
lights began to glow dimly, illuminating the room with a faint radiance
that gradually grew stronger.
A sudden scream burst from the lips of Hal Du Boise. Flinging up his
hand, he pointed toward the panel in the wall.
“Look!” he cried chokingly. “Great heavens, look! There it is!”
The panel had been silently opened, and through that opening the trio
could see the deathly white face of Dick Merriwell, whose dark, staring
eyes were fixed upon them with an accusing gaze that made their very
souls seem to shrivel within them.