I was standing beside him while he spoke. We were in the
vestibule of the Savoy Hotel at Colorado Springs. It was five
o'clock in the afternoon, which would be about seven in New York. He
told her he was safe and well, and that she was not to fret about
him. He told her he had been that morning for a walk in the Garden
of the Gods, which is the name given to the local park; they do that
sort of thing in Colorado. Also that he had drunk from the silicial
springs abounding in that favoured land. I am not sure that
"silicial" was the correct word. He was not sure himself: added to
which he pronounced it badly. Whatever they were, he assured her
they had done him good. He sent a special message to his Cousin
Jane--a maiden lady of means--to the effect that she could rely upon
seeing him soon. She was a touchy old lady, and liked to be singled
out for special attention. He made the usual kind enquiries about
everybody, sent them all his blessing, and only wished they could be
with him in this delectable land where it seemed to be always
sunshine and balmy breezes. He could have said more, but his time
being up the telephone people switched him off; and feeling he had
done a good and thoughtful deed, he suggested a game of billiards.
Could he have been a witness of events at the other end of the wire,
his condition would have been one of less self-complacence. Long
before the end of the first sentence his wife had come to the
conclusion that this was a message from the dead.
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