Late that evening Betty Mercer and Dallas were writing verses of
condolence to be signed by all of us and put under the door into Jim's
room when Bella came running down the stairs.
Dal was reading the first verse when she came. "Listen to this, Bella,"
he said triumphantly: "There was a fat artist named Jas,
Who cruelly called his friends nas.
When, altho' shut up tight,
He broke out over night
With a rash that is maddening, he clas."
Then he caught sight of Bella's face as she stood in the doorway, and
stopped.
"Jim is delirious!" she announced tragically. "You shut him in there all
alone and now he's delirious. I'll never forgive any of you."
"Delirious!" everybody exclaimed.
"He was sane enough when I took him his chicken broth," Mr. Harbison
said. "He was almost fluent."
"He is stark, staring crazy," Bella insisted hysterically. "I--I locked
the door carefully when I went down to my dinner, and when I came up
it--it was unlocked, and Jim was babbling on the bed, with a sheet over
his face. He--he says the house is haunted and he wants all the men to
come up and sit in the room with him."
"Not on your life," Max said. "I am young, and my career has only begun.
I don't intend to be cut off in the flower of my youth. But I'll tell
you what I will do; I'll take him a drink. I can tie it to a pole or
something."
But Mr. Harbison did not smile. He was thoughtful for a minute. Then: "I don't believe he is delirious," he said quietly, "and I wouldn't
be surprised if he has happened on something that--will be of general
interest. I think I will stay with him tonight."
After that, of course, none of the others would confess that he was
afraid, so with the South American leading, they all went upstairs. The
women of the party sat on the lower steps and listened, but everything
was quiet. Now and then we could hear the sound of voices, and after
a while there was a rapid slamming of doors and the sound of some one
running down to the second floor. Then quiet again.
None of us felt talkative. Bella had followed the men up and had been
put out, and sat sniffling by herself in the den. Aunt Selina was
working over a jig-saw puzzle in the library, and declaring that some of
it must be lost. Anne and Leila Mercer were embroidering, and Betty and
I sat idle, our hands in our laps. The whole atmosphere of the house
was mysterious. Anne told over again of the strange noises the night
her necklace was stolen. Betty asked me about the time when the comfort
slipped from under my fingers. And when, in the midst of the story, the
telephone rang, we all jumped and shrieked.