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There was a horrible plop as the man collapsed, coughing. The old man clapped his smoking musket down, and snatched his cutlass. "Any more for me, sir?" "Another on your right, Piper!" "Very good, sir." The old man spun himself to the corner, and waited behind the wall. The boy, running with all his might, watched fascinated. Round the corner the doomed man whirled with a grin.
Piper led him to unite with Hodgson and Myers in regarding the spiritistic hypothesis as the only one capable of explaining all the phenomena encountered. But he is none the less able and eager to expose fraud wherever found, and if only from the police view-point his society will undoubtedly do good work.
Oliver set down the bottles and opened them with a feeling both that he had never known Mr. Piper at all before, only Peter's father, and, spookily, that neither Peter's father nor the terrible old man who had wept on the floor beside Mrs. Severance could have any real existence this was such a complete and unemotional Mr. Piper he had before him, a Mr.
But she saw the look of incredulity which flashed over the sallow face of her unwelcome visitor. "Mr. Radmore," she went on hastily, "is taking a motor tour. But he'll be back in London soon, and I'll let you know the moment I know he's settled down." "I should 'ave thought," said the woman, "that the Major would 'ave 'ad a club where Piper could 'ave written." "If he has, I don't know it."
One member of the society seems to have been hypnotised, and the rest studied by the Piper gang through him. If all a man feels, sees, and hears be noted, the information gathered, coming from a stranger, will be startling to people who belong to his circle of friends. This information was imparted to Mrs. Piper, where it had not been collected by her.
His early days were eventful for his athletic success, as he won all kinds of professional prizes for short distance running. Boyhood friends of Mike Murphy tell of the comradeship among Mike Murphy, Keene Fitzpatrick, Pooch and Piper Donovan all Natick boys. They give glowing accounts of the "truck team" consisting of this clever quartet, each of whom were "ten-second" men in the sprinting game.
The old man said never a word, but with indrawn breath hissing through his clenched teeth, clutched her, and down they went together in the passage, the piper undermost. He had her by the throat, it is true, but she had her fingers in his eyes, and kneeling on his chest, kept him down with a vigour of hostile effort that drew the very picture of murder.
Then he said: "I know how to read English, but I have never heard it spoken; can you not speak a little piece for me?" "Certainly," was the answer. After a moment's consultation the two young men in all seriousness recited together "Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers," etc. No wonder that the prelate was astonished at the peculiar sound of English. Then he asked them for a song.
He usually handles a short stick; and, when drummer and piper are absent, he carries a tiny tomtom shaped like an hour-glass, upon which he taps the periods.
So we come back to the old myth, and hear the goat-footed piper making the music which is itself the charm and terror of things; and when a glen invites our visiting footsteps, fancy that Pan leads us thither with a gracious tremolo; or when our hearts quail at the thunder of the cataract, tell ourselves that he has stamped his hoof in the nigh thicket.
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