Short Stories
Matt gulped down the whole cup of coffee, and refilled the
cup.
"Are you scared to die?" he asked.
Jim shook his head. "What's the use? I don't die anyway. I
pass on an' live again—"
To go stealin', an' Iyin' an' snivellin' through another life,
an' go on that way forever an' ever an' ever?" Matt sneered.
"Maybe I'll improve," Jim suggested hopefully. "Maybe
stealin' won't be necessary in the life to come."
He ceased abruptly, and stared straight before him, a
frightened expression on his face.
"What's the matter?" Matt demanded.
"Nothin'. I was just wonderin'"—Jim returned to himself
with an effort—"about this dyin', that was all."
But he could not shake off the fright that had startled him. It
was as if an unseen thing of gloom had passed him by, casting
upon him the intangible shadow of its presence. He was aware
of a feeling of foreboding. Something ominous was about to hap-
pen. Calamity hovered in the air. He gazed fixedly across the ta-
ble at the other man. He could not understand. Was it that he
had blundered and poisoned himself? No Matt had the nicked
cup, and he had certainly put the poison in the nicked cup.
It was all his own imagination, was his next thought. It had
played him tricks before. Fool! Of course it was. Of course some-
thing was about to happen, but it was about to happen to Matt.
Had not Matt drunk the whole cup of coffee?
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