Page 18 Scribulus A Bit of Taxidermy continued meaning. His mind became an insane kaleidoscope of black and white and grey. A battering sound recalled him from the edge of darkness and held him conscious. Harriet ran to the door. "Oh, Jim, forgive me, forgive me! Something has happened to George. Look at him; he doesn't move!" She was sobbing. The Doctor approached the side of the bed. He looked steadily at Ruffing. Did he wink ? Ruffing could not be sure. The Doctor started to look him over. He examined Ruffing's heart. He felt his pulse. After a few moments of examination, he shook his head. "He's dead," he murmured gravely. The devil, the heartless fiend! If he could only raise himself and slap that darned quiet face! In his thoughts his body was threshing from side to side. He was shouting and yelling. And all the while he knew that he was lying there perfectly motionless, unable to lift a finger. Then, like a voice out of memory, the Doctor's tones came to his ears, calm and sympathetic. "Please, Honey," he was murmuring, "we must forget him. Everything's forgiven. I understand how it was, dear. We simply can't let this incident ruin our lives. Here's my suggestion: You think he has no relatives. Well, let's say that he is a relative of yours. We can bury him quietly in my own family vault. I'm willing to do that much for him." Harriet still sobbed, but more quietly now. "Jim, you are so kind and self-sacrificing." By the infernos of hell, how could the man be so calmly cruel? Ruffing's mind whirled madly. I'm alive, alive! He can't bury me alive! Dirt on the face in the mouth! No air air, air! Then something parted; a convulsion passed over him, sweeping him off into oblivion. The next time he became fully conscious, he was being prepared for burial. Cushions were placed under him. The sweet odor of flowers assailed his nostrils. People came and looked upon his body. Some had tears in their eyes, but others stared at him coldly. Then the lid of his coffin was closed tight and it was carried away. It came to rest in what Ruffing felt must be a dark, gloomy place. The hideousness of it all appalled him. Here he was to lie for eternity. He was not sensible to hunger or thirst. He must simply lie there until his brain became extinguished thought by thought. He must lie there and know for a century of ages that he had passed up the greatest thing in the world, not knowing it existed. He could hear tiny feet scampering above him. Tiny teeth ceaselessly gnawing. Rats those cruel little beasts that feed on the dead. Finally, what seemed days and weeks later he heard a different sound a sound of footsteps. The lid was thrown back and there stood Doctor Hipwell looking quietly down on him. He punched a hypodermic needle into Ruffing's arm. Ruffing's first sensation was of a chaotic nature. Then he felt the strong beating of his heart, and the red blood shot through his body. He stared at the Doctor with dazed and wondering eyes. When the Doctor spoke, he started violently. "Do you know who you are?" Hipwell disked "Yes," he mumbled. "I'm Ruffing." "No, you're not," contradicted the Doctor. "I killed Ruffing. You must get a new name, because you are really a new man. I have changed you and I reserve the right to start you in your new life. "You must go away from here to Asia, Alaska, or to some other distant place. I shall take care of the arrangements; all you have to do is to follow instructions." "Yes, sir," whispered Ruffing. "But someone might see me." "No, and they will not recognize you if they do see you. Come out into the sunlight and I will show you." Ruffing followed obediently out of the vault. His will felt as paralyzed as his body had been. They stopped and the Doctor held up a small mirror before Ruffing's eyes. Ruffing looked and recoiled. His face had become yellow and dry. His hair was grey and lifeless. His eyes were pink-rimmed and pale the eyes of a moron. "My God!" he croaked. "How long have I been in that hole?" "About twelve hours or so," said Dr. Hipwell. "But stifle your feelings as you have stifled the souls of men and women. A steamer is going south today and you go with it." He turned away, his face pale, and Ruffing tottered after. As he walked, he saw the pedestrians halt and gaze at him. In the eyes of some was a great horror. In the eyes of some was a great loathing. In the eyes of others was a great pity. Spring Issue Page 19 For Life is Where You Find It Continued I talked to him for a while and suggested a card game, but Chris was looking at Mazie most of the time; so I knew he had something more interesting to take up his time. While we were talking, I saw that "Droopy" still sprawled across the table in the corner. Until he shifted an arm and let it fall helplessly, I was almost sure there was no life in his body. If he had been drunk before, he was paralyzed now, for there didn't seem to be any power, any strength in his wilted body. He just lay there limp and droopy like a piece of dark sea weed hanging over a rock. What a contrast he made to a man like Chris! It occurred to me that a woman might be the cause for his down-fall, and unconsciously I looked about for Mazie. I couldn't help but wonder how, even for a swell frail like her, a man could fall so low; could become so desolate, so down and out. Of course I couldn't be sure there was anything between them, but I kept on thinking of the way she had acted, so scared and funny; a woman don't act that way about a stranger. Though I've been studying life for a long time, there's still things I can't figger out. Things like this "Droopy" guy for instance. It don't take no imagination to see him as he was a year or so back. You'd know he belonged to the sea. I could sort of see him standing on the prow of a ship, handsome and strong, with meat on his bones and hope and joy in his face. He's got faith in everything, and he's a right guy. Then he meets a dame and falls for her. If she's true blue, all's well, and everything's the tops. But if she's the other kind, God help him. He's the airdale breed a one-woman man. I've seen 'em on the rocks, bleached and spent and broken. Like driftwood wafted up on the shore, the flotsam of life. You get to think things out when you study life. . . Chris is different. Now there's a guy that's had his affairs with dames; but I'll bet he'd never fall for 'em. Not that way. Chris breaks the dames, but they don't break him. ... He isn't the poet type, if you get what I mean. . . . Mazie had disappeared. That seemed strange. She was generally around when Chris was on deck. Pretty soon I saw her coming down the stairs, and she made a picture I'll never forget. She had on a spangly dress; her pretty neck and arms were bare; the rest of her looked like it had been poured into the dress and molded in curves. Her dress was shiny, and it glittered when she walked. She had pinked up her face, and put a black ribbon around her white curls. Bracelets and more spangles gleamed on her arms. A slit in her tight skirt fell open and showed her slender, silken legs; oh she was a sight for sore eyes, I can tell you. She hurried right up to Chris with her pretty arms out and he grabbed her like a hungry man would grab food. All the girls at Joe's like Chris, and they're all jealous of Mazie because she's his favorite. Chris held her in his arms and kidded her along like he always does. But later when he turned to order drinks, I saw Mazie's eyes dart uneasily toward the inert figure in the corner. "Droopy" had been watching the play between Chris and Mazie. His eyes widened and his nostrils flared when he saw Chris run his fingers through her hair. He tried to get up, but was seized with a spell of coughing. After it was over he lay spent and panting. Beads of sweat covered his hands. His face was a greenish gray. No one paid much attention to him though, for Chris had spotted a victim and we knew he was going to pull his story-trick. The sailor, a dumb looking, lanky guy with a beak nose and little beady eyes, fell for the thing hook, line, and sinker. His mouth fell open, and he looked at Chris all ears. We all waited for the trick. When Chris reached out with his cigar and touched the guy's stomach, he gave a yell like a scared Indian. Everybody laughed and cheered and slapped Chris on the back. That is, everybody but "Droopy". He had a look of contempt on his dull, sick-looking face. Chris eyed the boy with a look of resentment. His heavy face flushed, and his bull neck grew a dull red. People, all people, laughed at his stories it wasn't healthy for anyone not to. Mazie saw Chris eyeing "Droopy", and she drew her breath in with a sharp gasp. She went pale under her make-up as she made frantic efforts to draw Chris's attention back to his story. When he had finished, the crowd roared and cheered again. All except "Droopy". Chris was furious. A deep frown settled on his coarse face, and when he called for the