Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (140 page)

"To-morrow,"
he
said
at
last.
To-morrow
he
would
really
take
the first
step.
He
rubbed
his
hands
and
laughed
as
he
pondered
near home,
in
his
own
lonely
square,
the
finer
last
details
which
his
imagination
multiplied.

"Stay,
enough,
enough!"
he
cried
to
his
separate
mad
mind;
"it
is already
done."

And
the
shadows
were
very
dark
about
him.
He
turned
to
go
home.

Then
came
immortality
to
him
in
strange
shape.
For
it
seemed
as though
his
ardent
and
confined
soul
burst
out
of
his
narrow
brain
and sparkled
marvellously.
Lights
showered
about
him,
and
from
a
rose sky
lightnings
flashed,
and
he
heard
awful
thunder.
The
heavens opened
in
a
white
blaze,
and
he
saw
unimaginable
things.
He
reeled, put
his
hand
to
his
stricken
head,
and
fell
heavily
in
a
pool
of
his own
blood.

And
the
Anticipator,
horribly
afraid,
ran
down
a
by-street.

Reprinted
by special permission of the author and Christy & Moore, Ltd.

_{Tke Old Man}

By HOLLOWAY HORN

M
artin
T
hompson was not a
desirable character, he possessed
a
clever,
plausible
tongue,
and
for
years
past
had
lived,
with
no
little success,
on
his
wits.
He
had
promoted
doubtful
boxing
competitions and
still
more
doubtful
sweepstakes.
He
had
been
a
professional backer,
in
which
capacity
he
had
defrauded
the
bookies;
again,
a
bookmaker
who
had
swindled
his
"clients."
There
was
more
cunning
than imagination
in
his
outlook,
but,
within
his
limits,
he
possessed
a certain
distorted
ability.

He
was
known
to
his
intimates
as
Knocker
Thompson,
and
as
such had
a
surprisingly
wide
reputation.
In
outward
appearance
he
was
a gentleman,
for
long
experience
had
taught
him
to
avoid
the
flashy and
distinctive
in
dress.
Indeed,
his
quiet
taste
had
often
proved
a valuable
business
asset.

Naturally,
his
fortunes
varied,
but
he
was
usually
more
or
less
in funds.
As
Knocker
sometimes
said
in
his
more
genial
moments:
"For every
mug
that
dies
there's
ten
others
born."

Funds
were
rather
low,
however,
on
the
evening
when
he
met
the old
man.
Knocker
had
spent
the
early
part
of
the
evening
with
two acquaintances
in
a
hotel
near
Leicester
Square.
It
was
a
business
meeting,
and
relations
had
been
a
little
strained;
opinions
had
been
freely expressed
which
indicated
a
complete
lack
of
confidence
in
Knocker, and
an
unmistakable
atmosphere
had
resulted.
Not
that
he
resented the
opinions
in
the
least,
but
at
that
juncture
he
needed
the
unquestioned
trust
of
the
two
men.

He
was
not
in
the
best
of
humours,
therefore,
as
he
turned
into Whitcomb
Street
on
his
way
to
Charing
Cross.
The
normal
plainness of
his
features
was
deepened
by
a
scowl,
and
the
general
result
startled the
few
people
who
glanced
at
him.