A CHRISTMAS VISITOR
It was Christmas Eve. I at alone in my room
in one of the most unfrequented parts of the old
college building and meditated. I had long since
thrown aside my well worn copy of Faust, in the
German, and had given myself up to my own
rambling thoughts . The few other students who,
like myself, were so unfortunate as to have to
spend;for various reasons, their vacation at the col
lege had retired and the old Janitor had gone his
rounds, so that the solitude was unbroken save by
the radiator which seemed to be enjoying its Christ
mas far more than I, for it kept up an incessant
sissing, raffling and banging, as though it was in
the best of humors. The lamp burned low. Ah
how I cursed the poverty, that enemy of all stu
dents, that had this year kept me from joining in
the Christmas revels in my distant 'home ? How
I bemoaned the bad luck,which had caused me to
lose a cool hundred with which I had backed the
Eleven in the game with B ? But for that
I might have been listening to the voice of the
dear girl in H-, instead of to the jarring
tones of a boisterous radiator.
Sleepily I watched the wreaths of smoke rise
from my pipe and float gently on the air,
picturing to myself scenes of home. Just as the
last tones of the college bell striking midnight had
died away, I was rudely awakened from my reveries
by three low distinct raps upon the closet door.
Astounded at the thought of a visitor at such an
hour and from such a quarter I instinctively grasp
ed a base-ball bat for protection and excitedly
cried,—"come in."
The door slowly flew back and forth from a
chaos of clothes, hats, tennis rackets and old books
came not, as I had expected, a murderous house
breaker but a tall sad looking man, apparently of
about twenty-two,—dressed not in the seedy garb
of a night hawk but in a full evening suit covered
with mold and dust.
"Who are you," I exclaimed fiercely "that you
hide yourself in a man's room like a thief and
THE FREE LANCE.
disturb his peace of mind by such unearthly
visits ?"
A wan smile lit up his pale face and he answer
ed, "I am the ghost• of Frederick Von Bunder-
stein.''
"Ghost I Bosh 1" I roared
"Hit me and see," he sneeringly replied
With all the force in my arms I let fly the
bat right at him, expecting to see him the next
instant an unconscious mass. But no,—right
through him it went and landed with such force
upon the door as to completely demolish one panel.
A hollow laugh was all that he uttered.
Terror-stricken I sank down in my chair and it
was some minutes before I had sufficiently regained
my presence of mind to examine my unearthly
visitor.
He had seated himself, lit my pipe and was cool
ly perusing the pages of my Faust. Evidently he
was troubled with the translation for suddenly
with a loud oath he threw the book into a distant
corner and exclaimed, "Stuff I If it had not beer.
for that accursed languge I should at this moment
be flesh and blood, instead of having to roam
about, the laughing stork of all really swell ghosts,
in a dress coat twenty years out of style."
"Pray, Sir, and how was that," I tremblingly
asked, for I had recovered at length somewhat from
my fear of him so gentlemanly did he look.
''And have you time to listen to my sad history?
For if so, I will relate it to you."
I nodded assent. He refilled the pipe, took a
few preliminary whiffs and then in hollow tones re
peated the following tale
"My Grandfather, Carl Von Bunderstein, came
to this country in the Forties and amassed by long
years of toil a fortune reaching well toward a ►pil
lion. I was left an orphan when fifteen years of
age and accordingly my grandfather's roof became
my shelter, he my guardian, and from that time I
was always treated as his sole heir. Never shall I
forget those few years which I spent under his pro
tection. Imagine a cold,crabbed old man of seven
ty whose sole pleasure consisted ip shutting