ain would go on
forever and always. I took up the poker.

"Suppose," I said, "I should strike you dead with this?"

"I would go on," he answered.

"As a conscious entity?" I demanded.

"Yes, as a conscious entity," was his reply. "I should go on, from
plane to plane of higher existence, remembering my earth-life, you, this
very argument--ay, and continuing the argument with you."

It was only argument[1]. I swear it was only argument. I never lifted a
hand. How could I? He was my brother, my elder brother, Jim.

I cannot remember. I was very exasperated. He had always been so
obstinate in this metaphysical belief of his. The next I knew, he was
lying on the hearth. Blood was running. It was terrible. He did not
speak. He did not move. He must have fallen in a fit and struck his
head. I noticed there was blood on the poker. In falling he must have
struck upon it with his head. And yet I fail to see how this can be, for
I held it in my hand all the time. I was still holding it in my hand as
I looked at it.

[Footnote 1: (Forcible--ha! ha!--comment of Rudolph Heckler on margin.)]

* * * * *

It is an hallucination. That is a conclusion of common sense. I have
watched the growth of it. At first it was only in the dimmest light
that I could see him sitting in the chair. But as the time passed, and
the hallucination, by repetition, strengthened, he was able to appear in
the chair under the strongest lights. That is the explanation. It is
quite satisfactory.

* * * * *

I shall never forget the first time I saw it. I had dined alone
downstairs. I never drink wine, so that what happened was eminently
normal. It was in the summer twilight that I returned to the study. I
glanced at the desk. There he was, sitting. So natural was it, that
before I knew I cried out "Jim!" Then I remembered all that had
happened. Of course it was an hallucination. I knew that. I took the
poker and went over to it. He did not move nor vanish. The poker cleaved
through the non-existent substance of the thing and struck the back of
the chair. Fabric of fancy, that is all it was. The mark is there on the
chair now where the poker struck. I pause from my writing and turn and
look at it--press the tips of my fingers into the indentation.

* * * * *

He _did_ continue the argument. I stole up to-day and looked over his
shoulder. He was writing the h