ed him with flowers, whipped up the horses and
came back to the world.

That night, as it was at the end of a holiday, the Republican Committee
had assigned to our town, for the benefit of the men in the shops, one
of the picture-shows that Mark Hanna, like a heathen in his blindness,
had sent to Kansas, thinking our State, after the war, needed a spur to
its patriotism in the election. The crowd in front of the post-office
was a hundred feet wide and two hundred feet long, looking at the
pictures from the kinetoscope--pictures of men going to work in mills
and factories; pictures of the troops unloading on the coast of Cuba;
pictures of the big warships sailing by; pictures of Dewey's flagship
coming up the Hudson to its glory; pictures of the Spanish ships lying
crushed in Manila harbour.

Larmy and the reporter were sitting kicking their heels on the stone
steps of the post-office opposite the screen on which the pictures were
flickering. Some they saw and others they did not notice, for their talk
was of David and of the strange things he had shown to them.

"How did you ever fix it up in your mind?" asked Larmy.

"I didn't fix it up. He was too many for me," was the reporter's answer.

"The little rooster couldn't have faked it up?" questioned Larmy.

"No--but he might have hypnotised us--or something."

"Yes--but still, he might have been hypnotised by something himself,"
suggested Larmy, and then added: "That thing he did with the
linotype--say, wasn't that about the limit? And yet nothing has come of
that prophecy. That's the trouble. I've seen dozens of those things, and
they always just come up to the edge of proving themselves, but always
jump back. There is always----"

"My God, Larmy, look--look!" cried the reporter.

And the two men looked at the screen before them, just as the backward
sway of the crowd had ceased and horror was finding a gasping voice upon
the lips of the women; for there, walking as naturally as life, out of
the background of the picture, came David Lewis with his dark sleeves
rolled up, his peaked army hat on the back of his head, a bucket in his
hand, and as he stopped and grinned at the crowd--between the
lightning-flashes of the kinetoscope--they could see him wave his free
hand. He stood there while a laugh covered his features, and he put his
hand in his pocket and drew out a key-ring, which he waved, holding it
by some long, stemlike instrument. Then he snapped back into