"But look here, Gaffney, you're getting steamed up over a lot of damn"
"Ssst!" The gnarly man took his stick and tiptoed over to the private entrance. As Dr. Saddler's clear voice sounded in the outer office, he sneaked out. He was closing the door behind him when the scientist entered the inner office.
Matilda Saddler was a quick thinker. Robinette hardly had time to open his mouth when she flung herself at and through the private door with a cry of "Clarence!"
Robinette heard the clatter of feet on the stairs. Neither the pursued nor the pursuer had waited for the creaky elevator. Looking out the window, he saw Gaffney leap into a taxi. Matilda Saddler sprinted after the cab, calling: "Clarence! Come back!" But the traffic was light and the chase correspondingly hopeless.
They did hear from the gnarly man once more. Three months later Robinette got a letter whose envelope contained, to his vast astonishment, ten ten-dollar bills. The single sheet was typed, even to the signature.
Dear Mr. Robinette:
I do not know what your regular fees are, but I hope that the inclosed will cover your services to me of last June.
Since leaving New York I have had several jobs. I pushed a hack as we say in Chicago, and I tried out as pitcher on a bush league baseball team. Once I made my living by knocking over rabbits and things with stones, and I can still throw fairly well. Nor am I bad at swinging a club, such as a baseball bat. But my lameness makes me too slow for a baseball career, and it will be some time before I try any remedial operations again.
I now have a job whose nature I cannot disclose because I do not wish to be traced. You need pay no attention to the postmark; I am not living in Kansas City, but had a friend post this letter there.
Ambition would be foolish for one in my peculiar position. I am satisfied with a job that furnishes me with the essentials, and allows me to go to an occasional movie, and a few friends with whom I can drink beer and talk.
I was sorry to leave New York without saying goodby to Dr. Harold McGannon, who treated me very nicely. I wish you would explain to him why I had to leave as I did. You can get in touch with him through Columbia University.
If Dunbar sent you my hat as I requested, pleased mail it to me: General Delivery, Kansas City, Mo. My friend will pick it up. There is not a hat store in this town where I live that can fit me. With best wishes, I remain,
Yours sincerely,
Shining Hawk
Alias Clarence Aloysius Gaffney
OH, WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD
by M. R. James
Chosen by Morgan Llywelyn
Montague Rhodes James was a true master of the supernatural. The term is thrown about all too casually these days, but he earned it in full measure. His language was that of the nineteenth century, elegant and erudite, which enhances the authenticity of his tales. James did not rely upon gore and ghoulishness for his effects. He piled one commonplace detail upon another to bring his characters and their world to life, while at the same time, and with great subtlety, developing a claustrophobic, almost overwhelming atmosphere of dread. His ghosts were neither friendly nor whimsical, but mysterious, vindictive, and terrible in the literal meaning of the word.
The work included here is a perfect example. A single image from this story has haunted my worst nightmares since I first read it as a teenager. Over the years, tales of terror have grown progressively more violent and thus supposedly more frightening. Yet nothing has ever put such a chill up my spine as "Oh, Whistle, and I'll Come to You, My Lad."
Morgan Llywelyn
"I suppose you will be getting away pretty soon, now full term is over, professor," said a person not in the story to the professor of ontography, soon after they had sat down next to each other at a feast in the hospitable hall of St. James's College.
The professor was young, neat, and precise indivspeech.
"Yes," he said;"my friends have been making me take up golf this term, and I mean to go to the east coast in point of fact to Burnstow (I daresay you know it) for a week or ten days, to improve my game. I hope to get off tomorrow."
"Oh, Parkins," said his neighbor on the other side, "if you are going to Burnstow, I wish you would look at the site of the Templars' preceptory, and let me know if you think it would be any good to have a dig there in the summer."
It was, as you might suppose, a person of antiquarian pursuits who said this, but, since he merely appears in this prologue, there is no need to give his entitlements.
"Certainly," said Parkins, the professor: "if you will describe to me whereabouts the site is, I will do my best to give you an idea of the lie of the land when I get back; or I could write to you about it, if you would tell me where you are likely to be."
"Don't trouble to do that, thanks. It's only that I'm thinking of taking my family in that direction in the Long, and it occurred to me that, as very few of the English preceptories have ever been properly planned, I might have an opportunity of doing something useful on off-days."
The professor rather sniffed at the idea that planning out a preceptory could be described as useful. His neighbor continued: "The site I doubt if there is anything showing above ground must be down quite close to the beach now. The sea has encroached tremendously, as you know, all along that bit of coast. I should think, from the map, that it must be about three-quarters of a mile from the Globe Inn, at the north end of the town. Where are you going to stay?"
"Well, at the Globe Inn, as a matter of fact," said Parkins; "I have engaged a room there. I couldn't get in anywhere else; most of the lodging houses are shut up in winter, it seems; and, as it is, they tell me that the only room of any size I can have is really a double-bedded one, and that they haven't a corner in which to store the other bed, and so on. But I must have a fairly large room, for I am taking some books down, and mean to do a bit of work; and though I don't quite fancy having an empty bed not to speak of two in what I may call for the time being my study, I suppose I can manage to rough it for the short time I shall be there."
"Do you call having an extra bed in your room roughing it, Parkins?" said a bluff person opposite. "Look here, I shall come down and occupy it for a bit; it'll be company for you."
The professor quivered, but managed to laugh in a courteous manner.
"By all means, Rogers; there's nothing I should like better. But I'm afraid you would find it rather dull; you don't play golf, do you?"
"No, thank heaven!" said rude Mr. Rogers.
"Well, you see, when I'm not writing I shall most likely be out on the links, and that, as I say, would be rather dull for you, I'm afraid."
"Oh. I don't know! There's certain to be somebody I know in the place; but, of course, if you don't want me, speak the word, Parkins; I shan't be offended. Truth, as you always tell us, is never offensive."
Parkins was, indeed, scrupulously polite and strictly truthful. It is to be feared that Mr. Rogers sometimes practiced upon his knowledge of these characteristics. In Parkins's breast there was a conflict now raging, which for a moment or two did not allow him to answer. That interval being over, he said: "Well, if you want the exact truth, Rogers, I was considering whether the room I speak of would really be large enough to accommodate us both comfortably; and also whether (mind, I shouldn't have said this if you hadn't pressed me) you would not constitute something in the nature of a hindrance to my work."