till. I have seen
"walking skeletons" in circuses, but never such a man as the one who was
then sitting at my right hand. Those side-show men were just lean in
comparison to the fellow who had invaded our Saturday night club. His
thighs and his legs and his knees, sticking sharply into his trousers,
looked like pieces of inch board. His shoulders and his chest seemed as
flat and as sharp as his legs. The sight of the man shocked me. I sprang
to my feet thoroughly frightened. I could not see much of his face,
sitting there in the dark as he was with his back to the yellow light,
but I could make out enough of it to know that it was in keeping with
the rest of him.

In a moment or two, realizing my childishness, I had fought down my fear
and, pretending that a scorching of my leg had caused my hurried
movement, I sat down again. None of the others said a word, each waiting
for me to continue and to break the embarrassing silence. Hammersly,
black-whiskered, the "sphinx" as my mother had called him, watched me
closely. Hating myself not a little bit for actually being the sissy I
had boasted I was not, I spoke hurriedly, loudly, to cover my confusion.

"No sir, Jed!" I said, taking up my argument. "When a man's dead, he's
dead! There's no bringing him back like that highbrow claimed. The old
heart may be only hitting about once in every hundred times, and if they
catch it right at the last stroke they may bring it back then, but once
she's stopped, Jed, she's stopped for good. Once the pulse has gone, and
life has flickered out, it's out. And it doesn't come back in any form
at all, not in this world!"

I was glad when I had said it, thereby asserting myself and downing my
foolish fear of the man whose eyes I felt burning into me. I did not
turn to look at him but all the while I felt his gimlety eyes digging
into my brain.

Then he spoke. And though he sat right next to me his voice sounded like
a moan from afar off. It was the first time we had heard this thing that
once may have been a voice and that now sounded like a groan from a
closely nailed coffin. He reached a hand toward my knee to enforce his
words, but I jerked away.

"So you don't believe a man can come back from the grave, eh?" he
grated. "Believe that once a man's heart is stilled it's stopped for
good, eh? Well, you're all wrong, sonny. All wrong! You believe these
things. I _know_ them!"

* * * * *

His interference