Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (123 page)

"Then
why
did
you
insist
so
on
hunting
the
Zulu?"

Lithway
colored
a
little.
"Well,
to
tell
the
truth,
I
never
wholly believed
in
that
snake.
If
you
or
Wender
had
only
seen
her,
now!"

"I
don't
see
why
Wender
was
so
worried,"
I
said.
"After
all,
a snake
might
have
got
in—and
got
out."

"He
saw
it
twice,"
explained
Lithway.

"Symptoms,"
I
murmured.
"Had
he
ever
had
an
adventure
with a
rattlesnake?" "No."

"Then
why
should
it
make
him
nervous?"

"I
suppose"—Lithway
looked
at
me
a
little
cautiously,
I
thought —"just
because
he
never
had
seen
one.
He
said,
I
remember,
that the
rattlesnake
hadn't
been
born
yet."

I
laughed.
"Wender
is
sensitive.
The
ghost
of
a
rattlesnake
that has
never
lived—well,
you
can't
be
more
fantastic
than
that!"

"Wender
has
a
theory,"
Lithway
said.

But
he
seemed
actually
to
want
to
change
the
subject.
Accordingly, I
did
change
it—a
little.
I
didn't
really
care
for
Wender's
theories. I
had
heard
some
of
them.
They
included
elementáis.

"Tell
me
some
more
about
yours.
She's
the
most
convincing
of
the three.
Do
you
recognize
her?"

"Never
saw
any
one
that
looked
remotely
like
her."

"And
you
are
the
first
occupant
of
this
house,"
I
mused.
"Was she
dressed
in
an
old-fashioned
way?"

Lithway
actually
blushed.
"She
is
dressed
rather
oddly—her
hair
is done
queerly.
I've
hunted
the
fashion-books
through,
and
I
can't find
such
a
fashion
anywhere
in
the
last
century.
I'm
not
in
the
least afraid,
but
I
am
curious
about
her,
I
admit."

"Was
Wender's
rattlesnake
old-fashioned?"

Lithway
got
up.
"See
here,"
he
said,
"I'm
not
going
to
stand
jollying.
That's
the
one
thing
i
am
afraid
of.
Should
you
like
to
hear Wender's
theory?"

"Not
I,"
I
said
firmly.
"He
believes
in
two
kinds
of
magic—white and
black—and
has
eaten
the
fruit
of
the
mango-tree
that
a
fakir
has just
induced
to
grow
out
of
the
seed
before
his
eyes.
He
told
me
once that
devils
were
square.
I'm
not
in
the
least
interested
in
Wender's rattlesnake.
The
wonder
is,
with
his
peculiar
twist
of
mind,
that
he doesn't
insist
on
living
in
this
house."

"He
particularly
hates
snakes,"
answered
Lithway.
"He
was
hoping to
see
her,
but
he
never
could.
Nor
you,
apparently."

"How
often
do
you
see
her?" "About
once
in
six
months." "And
you're
not
afraid?"

"Well—she
doesn't
do
anything
to
me,
you
know."
He
was
very serious.

"Probably
couldn't
hurt
you
if
she
did—a
young
thing
like
that. But
why
don't
you
move
out?"

Lithway
frankly
crimsoned.
"I—like
her." "In
spite
of
her
eyes?"

"In
spite
of
her
eyes.
And—I've
thought
that
look
in
them
might be
the
cross
light
on
the
staircase."