Having finished cleaning his clothes, Sandy went out to the kitchen for
supper, after which he found himself with nothing to do. Mr. Delamere's
absence relieved him from attendance at the house during the evening. He
might have smoked his pipe tranquilly in the kitchen until bedtime, had
not the cook intimated, rather pointedly, that she expected other
company. To a man of Sandy's tact a word was sufficient, and he resigned
himself to seeking companionship elsewhere.
Under normal circumstances, Sandy would have attended prayer-meeting on
this particular evening of the week; but being still in contumacy, and
cherishing what he considered the just resentment of a man falsely
accused, he stifled the inclination which by long habit led him toward
the church, and set out for the house of a friend with whom it occurred
to him that he might spend the evening pleasantly. Unfortunately, his
friend proved to be not at home, so Sandy turned his footsteps toward
the lower part of the town, where the streets were well lighted, and on
pleasant evenings quite animated. On the way he met Josh Green, whom he
had known for many years, though their paths did not often cross. In his
loneliness Sandy accepted an invitation to go with Josh and have a
drink,--a single drink. When Sandy was going home about eleven
o'clock, three sheets in the wind, such was the potent effect of the
single drink and those which had followed it, he was scared almost into
soberness by a remarkable apparition. As it seemed to Sandy, he saw
himself hurrying along in front of himself toward the house. Possibly
the muddled condition of Sandy's intellect had so affected his judgment
as to vitiate any conclusion he might draw, but Sandy was quite sober
enough to perceive that the figure ahead of him wore his best clothes
and looked exactly like him, but seemed to be in something more of a
hurry, a discrepancy which Sandy at once corrected by quickening his own
pace so as to maintain as nearly as possible an equal distance between
himself and his double. The situation was certainly an incomprehensible
one, and savored of the supernatural.
"Ef dat's me gwine 'long in front," mused Sandy, in vinous perplexity,
"den who is dis behin' here? Dere ain' but one er me, an' my ha'nt wouldn'
leave my body 'tel I wuz dead. Ef dat's me in front, den I mus' be my
own ha'nt; an' whichever one of us is de ha'nt, de yuther must be dead
an' don' know it. I don' know what ter make er no sech gwines-on, I
don't. Maybe it ain' me after all, but it certainly do look lack me."
When the apparition disappeared in the house by the side door, Sandy
stood in the yard for several minutes, under the shade of an elm-tree,
before he could make up his mind to enter the house. He took courage,
however, upon the reflection that perhaps, after all, it was only the
bad liquor he had drunk. Bad liquor often made people see double.
He entered the house. It was dark, except for a light in Tom Delamere's
room. Sandy tapped softly at the door.
"Who's there?" came Delamere's voice, in a somewhat startled tone, after
a momentary silence.
"It's me, suh; Sandy."
They both spoke softly. It was the rule of the house when Mr. Delamere
had retired, and though he was not at home, habit held its wonted sway.
"Just a moment, Sandy."
Sandy waited patiently in the hall until the door was opened. If the
room showed any signs of haste or disorder, Sandy was too full of his
own thoughts--and other things--to notice them.
"What do you want, Sandy," asked Tom.
"Mistuh Tom," asked Sandy solemnly, "ef I wuz in yo' place, an' you wuz
in my place, an' we wuz bofe in de same place, whar would I be?"
Tom looked at Sandy keenly, with a touch of apprehension. Did Sandy mean
anything in particular by this enigmatical inquiry, and if so, what? But
Sandy's face clearly indicated a state of mind in which consecutive
thought was improbable; and after a brief glance Delamere breathed more
freely.
"I give it up, Sandy," he responded lightly. "That's too deep for me."
"'Scuse me, Mistuh Tom, but is you heared er seed anybody er anything
come in de house fer de las' ten minutes?"
"Why, no, Sandy, I haven't heard any one. I came from the club an hour
ago. I had forgotten my key, and Sally got up and let me in, and then
went back to bed. I've been sitting here reading ever since. I should
have heard any one who came in."
"Mistuh Tom," inquired Sandy anxiously, "would you 'low dat I'd be'n
drinkin' too much?"
"No, Sandy, I should say you were sober enough, though of course you
may have had a few drinks. Perhaps you'd like another? I've got
something good here."
"No, suh, Mistuh Tom, no, suh! No mo' liquor fer me, suh, never! When
liquor kin make a man see his own ha'nt, it's 'bout time fer dat man
ter quit drinkin', it sho' is! Good-night, Mistuh Tom."
As Sandy turned to go, Delamere was struck by a sudden and daring
thought. The creature of impulse, he acted upon it immediately.
"By the way, Sandy," he exclaimed carelessly, "I can pay you back that
money you were good enough to lend me this afternoon. I think I'll
sleep better if I have the debt off my mind, and I shouldn't wonder if
you would. You don't mind having it in gold, do you?"
"No, indeed, suh," replied Sandy. "I ain' seen no gol' fer so long dat
de sight er it'd be good fer my eyes."
Tom counted out ten five-dollar gold pieces upon the table at his elbow.
"And here's another, Sandy," he said, adding an eleventh, "as interest
for the use of it."
"Thank y', Mistuh Tom. I didn't spec' no in-trus', but I don' never
'fuse gol' w'en I kin git it."
"And here," added Delamere, reaching carelessly into a bureau drawer,
"is a little old silk purse that I've had since I was a boy. I'll put
the gold in it, Sandy; it will hold it very nicely."
"Thank y', Mistuh Tom. You're a gentleman, suh, an' wo'thy er de fam'ly
name. Good-night, suh, an' I hope yo' dreams 'll be pleasanter 'n' mine.
Ef it wa'n't fer dis gol' kinder takin' my min' off'n dat ha'nt, I don'
s'pose I'd be able to do much sleepin' ter-night. Good-night, suh."
"Good-night, Sandy."
Whether or not Delamere slept soundly, or was troubled by dreams,
pleasant or unpleasant, it is nevertheless true that he locked his door,
and sat up an hour later, looking through the drawers of his bureau, and
burning several articles in the little iron stove which constituted part
of the bedroom furniture.
It is also true that he rose very early, before the household was
stirring. The cook slept in a room off the kitchen, which was in an
outhouse in the back yard. She was just stretching herself, preparatory
to getting up, when Tom came to her window and said that he was going
off fishing, to be gone all day, and that he would not wait for
breakfast.