216
Kansas University Weekly.
get the old fellow cooled off a bit and succeed in keeping the book at a reasonable price. So he tucked his prize under his arm and started back, telling the shop-keeper to come along and see what the clerk had to say about it. To his surprise the old man again caught hold of his sleeve and held him back.
"You sha'n't go back," said the dwarf. "You sha'n't go back." The expression on his face had changed suddenly from anger to fear. The student looked at him in astonishment.
"No, no," said the little man hoarsely. "You can have the book, you can have it."
"I'd like to know why," he said. "You let go of me and come along."
The student stopped. A sudden suspicion came into his mind. Something had happened at the shop which the old man did not want him to know. It was his turn now to take hold of the shop-keeper's arm and force him along the street to the entrance of the book store. The little man broke away from him here and springing in, tried to shut the door against him, but the student thrust in his arm and foot and then made an opening for his whole body. Nobody was in sight, but a narrow stream of blood ran from under the counter to the middle of the floor. The student dropped his book, and springing upon the counter, looked behind. The girl's white face looked up at him from the semi-darkness of the gloomy place. There was a frightful gash over her brow from which the blood was flowing across her forehead. With an exclamation of horror the student got down behind the counter, and taking hold of the limp body drew it carefully out into the better light. The shop-keeper was standing near the door, his eyes fixed on the stream of blood, and as the student dragged the body out from behind the counter he looked at it with the same petrified air with which he had regarded the blood.
"Water!" demanded the student. But the shop-keeper did not seem to hear. The student felt of the girl's pulse but could detect no beating. He rushed to the door and called loudly for help. Two or three men who were within hearing on the street immediately ran to the
shop. A policeman soon appeared and blew a long call on his whistle. The shop was soon crowded. The old man had suddenly come to himself, as it were; he threw himself on his knees by the body of the girl and began frantically to chafe her hands. He seemed to be wild with grief. When the officers came in and thrust the crowd aside he stood up and, pointing at the student who was bathing the girl's head, cried shrilly, "Arrest the murderer, arrest the murderer."
A sharp blade of terror pierced the student's heart. The terrible thought had recurred to him again and again that he was the real cause of it all, and now when he looked up at the sound of the old man's accusing voice he was the picture of fear and guilt. "I am not the murderer," he cried weakly. "I only bought a book of the girl and he came back and killed her for selling it too cheap. I am not the murderer," he protested more strongly as the handcuffs clinked on his wrists.
"You heard about the time I had in London being tried for murder?" said the young Oxford student a year or so later to an acquaintance who was sitting with him one evening in his comfortable study.
"Yes, I heard a little about the trial and remember that the fellow who was chief prosecuting witness was afterwards sent up for the crime of which he had accused you, but how did it all happen anyhow?"
The Oxford student told his story and then going to a book-shelf, took down an old brown levant and showed where the bottom corners of the pages were stained a dark red. "That was the price," he said with a shudder.
L. N. F.
An Incident.
It was Sunday evening and the blasé young man was calling upon the young lady who was bored. They had finished discussing all their friends and acquaintances and the young man was preparing to leave.
He stood in the dimly lighted hall drawing on his gloves. The young lady pulled back the