Jasper County Democrat, Volume 14, Number 25, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 July 1911 — Uncle Philemon’s Ghost [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Uncle Philemon’s Ghost

And How Its Visits Were Stopped

By CLARISSA MACKIE

“That for a ghost!” cried Clarke, with a contemptuous snap of his fingers. “Who ever saw one? Did you, Evans?” “Perhaps.” said his friend evasively. “I’m not certain whether I did or not That's why I invited you down to keep watch with me and make uncertainty certainty.” “In other words, when is a ghost?" jeered Clarke, in his favorite vaudevillian manner.

"Usually at 12,” returned Evans dryly. “Now. so that you may not become nervous through anticipation, let us forget the grewsome story of my Uncle Philemon’s Uncle Philemon and turn to pinochle.” They drew closer to the library table, while the servant piled more wood on the fire and placed a tray of refreshments close at hand. Then the man withdrew, leaving the two friends sitting in the large, high ceilinged apartment, whose walls were lined with tall bookcases variegated with large family portraits. “Who is tbe gent with the leary eye?” demanded Clarke suddenly as be flung down his cards and faced toward one of the paintings. “That over the fireplace?" “That’s my Uncle Philemon’s Uncle Philemoil,” explained Evans solemnly. “The old party who walks?" asked Clarke, a trifle put out In manner. “Yes. Why?’ “I wish you’d hang a curtain over the picture. With due respect to your ancestors, Evans, old man. he’s about as disagreeable a party as I ever met." Evans smiled rather maliciously. "If you prefer it, Ed, we can go in some

STEPPED EASILY TO THE BROAD SHELF. other room —my den. for instance—only I thought you didn't mind influences and small matters of that sort,” hinted Evans. “The library for mine,” asserted Clarke stiffly, and then the play went on for another hour, but all the time the visitor was twitching uneasily in his chair, evidently ill at ease over the close scrutiny of the beruffled and bewigged old gentleman standing so stiffly in the gold frame over the fireplace. “Oh—ah”— yawned Clarke as the hour of 11 was chimed. “You licked me all to bits, Ed. Let's quit. Pm dying for smoke.” “Same here.” said the other, scratching a match. “What did the old fellow do?” asked Clarke after a silence which he had vainly employed in endeavoring to , stare Uncle Philemon’s Uncle Philemon out of his disagreeable countenance. “What was his particular wild oat that he must come back to see how it flourisheth?” “Horses.” said Evans laconically. “Extravagant I suppose, and put a mortgage on the bid home, is that what the double uncle did?" “Yep.” “Then he’s a double dyed old villain.” sniffed Clarke. “Ought to had his head bumped. I suppose the other uncle, his namesake, the last one, had to work off the mortgage.” “Right again.” “Well, what’s Philemon back again for? Trying to raise some more money on the place?” “Give it up. He’s been hanging around the last three years now. doing the same old stunt. You see. his father had a beautiful stable of blooded' horses, and at one time when the old gentleman was away and young Philemon was borne (you’d neverthink that decrepit old gentleman ever was young, with good red blood in him. would you?), why, Philemon took advantage of an opportunity to dispose of the whole stable for a large sum. and after one wild night, when he entertained a crowd of his half intoxicat

eo companions at a pnflceiy least, tne entire sum of mohey disappeared as if it had never been. He awoke the next morning sober as an owl and could give no accounting of the transaction. The horses were gone, and their gamings went with them “Philemon’s father was angry enough because the young man could not recollect what be bad doue with the money, and it was finally concluded that what he had not spent in entertainment he had been relieved of by his unscrupulous companions. The money was gone and Uncle Philemon’s Uncle Philemon was disgraced. “He died a moderately poor manland poor—and today the disappearance of the money is as much a mys- J tery as ever. They say that the old gentleman returns now and then, especially on the anniversary of the day on which he made the unhappy deal with tbe horse buyers, in order to make a more thorough search for the missing money. I saw him a year ago tonight. and I hope you are scheduled to be cured of your doubts.” Evans lighted his cigar once more and leaned comfortably back in his chair. Clarke shrugged his shoulders and. turned over the leaves of a magazine with careless Indifference. “No objections to my potting at him with my revolver?” he asked hopefully.

“Why, no—so long as you don’t cut a hole in the portrait.” assented Evans. “Are you a good shot?” he asked as an afterthought. “Am I? Ask Timothy Allen. "I knocked the button off his cap the other day.” “I can trust you with Uncle Philemon. then,” said Evans, relieved. “Want somebody else in?” asked Clarke. “I can run out and ask one of your servants in if you want me to.” He turned toward the door. “They won’t do at all—too much of the emotional about them. What we need for these experiments are men of physical muscle as well as those of mental power. Understand?” “Trying to.” said Clarke helplessly. “I’ve been thinking, Dan,” went on Evans thoughtfully, “why wouldn’t it be a good idea for you to step up tothe shade of my uncle and endeavor to prove whether his guise is that of real flesh and blood or”— “Whether he’s a combination of misty gray chiffons?” ended Clarke disgustedly. “I’ll not do it. I’ll take shots at him, though.” Five minutes before 12 the clock gave a little warning click, which was followed by the clicking of Clarke’s revolver as he cocked the weapon. “Somehow it doesn’t seem just the right thing to take advantage of an old man like that.” Evans was beginning. rather uneasily, when the big clock in the hall boomed out tbe hour of 12. to be immediately followed by tbe smaller chime of the library clock. Then it was that they both found their attention attracted to the picture of Uncle Philemon over the fireplace. Some unseen wind was blowing it gently to and fro. out from the wall and then back again, and they distinctly heard the rub and knock of tbe heavy frame as it pounded the wail. A little drift of dust floated down, from the disturbed frame. “My Lord!” gasped Evans excitedly. But Clarke was speechless ~ with amazement, his hand holding the cocked pistol resting on the edge of the table and quite carelessly pointing the weapon at tbe huge Chinese porcelain vase that stood at one end of the mantel. The drifting dust seemed to thicken and form a cloud which obscured the picture for a moment. Then it thinned again, and out of the frame there stepped Uncle Philemon’s Uncle Philemon, resplendent in velvet coat and

lace and bewdgged and powdered and patched. He stepped easily to the broad shelf And paced down its length toward the Chinese vase, his head towering upward, his hands clasped behind his bent back. Seen through the mist, it appeared that the portrait of Evans’ uncle was still in the frame, and yet he paced the broad mantel, dexterously evading the few ornaments with his silk stockinged legs. The two watchers gasped excitedly, and then Clarke's nervous finger inadvertently pressed the trigger of the pistol, and it went off with a startling detonation in the quiet room. The form on the mantel shelf seemed to rush back into its frame, which hung rigidly as before. The dust disappeared. and the room lay bathed in the warm lamplight as it was before the clock had struck. The room was the same, save that the great Chinese vase which had stood .on the mantel shelf even before the day when Uncle Philemon’s Uncle Philemon had lived in the old brick mansion was shattered by the straying bullet from Clarke's careless weapon. When they gathered their wits together and convinced themselves that they were not dreaming—that they had simply talked themselves into seeing ghostly visions and after the refreshment tray had helped to restore their courage—they gathered up the broken porcelain vase and found within its shattered shell all the money Uncle Philemon’s Uncle Philemon had carelessly stowed away that day so many years ago when in the sowing of his wild oats he had chosen to sell off his father’s blooded horses. The money was all there in gleaming gold. “I guess the old fellow has raised the mortgage at last,” said Evans a little breathlessly after they hadp counted it and examined it to their hearts’ content." “And laid his own ghost at the same time.” added Clarke seriously, which was quite true, for Uncle Philemon’s Uncle Philemon never walked again for he had accomplished his long postponed act of reparation. -