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My God! It has kept me awake nights!" "Colcord" Simec's white eyes rested professionally upon the host "let us get to the root of your state of mind; your brief is for the individual as against the common good, is it not?" Colcord frowned. "Oh, I haven't any brief, Simec; I've never reasoned about the thing, that is, in a cold, scientific way. It's a matter of heart, I suppose of instinct.
I wish I could but I can't." Bates shifted uneasily. He shrugged. "It's too hypothetical. And yet of course it's absurd yet if the thing could happen, I think I'd stick with Colcord." "In other words" Simec's voice now had a sibilant hiss "if you could end war through your death you'd be willing to die now, or at any specified time?" "If you're talking to me," said Colcord, "I'm on record.
He did not seem to be alive all the time; but, on the other hand, he was sometimes a good deal too much alive, and could not bear his potations as well as he used to do, and was overheard blaspheming at himself for being so weakly, and having a brain that could not bear a thimbleful, and growing to be a milksop like Colcord, as he said.
Even as she spoke she knew that Simec had resumed his seat, although he had made no sound and her eyes were upon her husband. She was thus not surprised to hear his voice. "I gather, then," he said, as though picking up a conversational thread, "that there are two of you who would be willing to make the gift of sacrifice Colcord and Bates."
The prevailing mood impressed Evelyn Colcord strongly, and, glancing down the table, she started at her accuracy in divining the cause. Simec's place was vacant. She recalled now that but a moment before he had been summoned to the telephone. She had noted his temporary departure only as one notices the lifting of a saffron mist.
"But this is not a joke, Mrs. Colcord," rejoined Simec gravely. "Well, in any event " began Evelyn, but her husband interrupted. "I told you I was on record, Simec," he said. "You show me a way to end this carnival of murder and I'm your man." "I, too." Bates chuckled. "Perhaps, after all, we've been dining closer to the supernatural than we realized. Well, I'm game.
"It was always in us," continued Colcord, with a certain pride which people generally feel in their ancestral characteristics, be they good or evil. "A print of blood!" said the grim Doctor, breaking his pipe-stem by some sudden spasm in his gripe of it. "Pooh! the devil take the pipe! A very strange story that!
Allison smote the table in agitation. "Why don't you secure condemned convicts?" "Even were that possible, I should not care to proceed in that way. Again, I must have one or more men of keen intelligence." "But neither Colcord nor Bates is a scientist!" "That is not at all necessary," was the composed reply. "I am the scientist." "And Nick the victim," flashed Evelyn Colcord.
A spirit of change is acting on our literature. There is a fresh living current in the air. The new American spirit in fiction is typically voiced by such a man as Mr. Lincoln Colcord in a letter from which I have his permission to quote. "There are many signs," he writes, "that literature in America stands at a parting of ways.
That, however, is a detail " "Just like that, eh?" No one smiled at Jerry Dane's comment. Bates leaned forward. "Where do Colcord and I come in?" Simec, who had resumed his seat, turned to him. "Of course I beg your pardon. I should have explained at the outset that the discovery has never had adequate practical test.
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