you really believe the dead
can come back?"

"Why not?" demanded McPherson, beginning to bristle for a new argument.
"Why shouldn't they?"

"But--you mean to say you could come back to this room if you were dead,
and I could see you?"

"You might not see me. I don't say you could. But I could come back."

"And--and could you _talk_ to me?"

"I think so."

"But, could I hear you?"

"That I don't know. You see, that's what we gropers after the light are
trying to make possible. Hello!" he interrupted himself, in a none too
pleased whisper. "_Here_ are some people that can talk and that one
can't help hearing!"

Ushered in by Willem, the Rev. Mr. Batholommey, the local Episcopal
clergyman of Grimm Manor, and his placid, portly wife, swept in from the
vestibule on clerical visitation bent.

"Good-morning, Doctor," sighed Mrs. Batholommey, comprising the whole
sunlit room in one all-compassionate glance.

"Good-morning, Kathrien."

"Good-morning, Mrs. Batholommey," answered Kathrien, loudly enough to
drown McPherson's growl of unwelcoming welcome. "Good-morning, Pastor.
Oom Peter will be back directly. I'll tell him you're here."

She hurried out of the room. McPherson showed strong inclination to
follow her. But Mrs. Batholommey had already singled him out for her
prey and bore down upon him with a becomingly woe-begone face.

"Oh, Doctor," she panted, wiping her eyes. "Does he know it yet? _Does_
he?"

"Does _who_ know _what_?" snapped the doctor, his glance straying
wrathfully toward the rotund clergyman, who all at once assumed an
abjectly apologetic air and interested himself in a picture on the
farther wall.

"Poor dear Mr. Grimm," pursued Mrs. Batholommey. "Does he know he's
going to die?"

Willem, who was halfway out of the room by this time, halted, turned
back and, unobserved, stood listening with wide eyes and open mouth.

"What in blue blazes are you talking about?" thundered McPherson,
glowering down on his rector's wife in a most unadmiring manner.

"About Mr. Grimm. Does he know yet that he must die?"

"Does the whole damned town know it?" roared the doctor.

"Oh!" cried Mrs. Batholommey in prim horror at the explosive adjective.

"You see, Doctor," put in the rector with urbane haste, before his
spouse could recover breath to rebuke the blasphemer or return to the
attack. "You see, it's this way: You consulted Mr. Grimm's lawyer. And
his wife told _my_ wife."

"Gabbed, did he?" s