Page:Weird Tales Volume 13 Number 2 (1929-02).djvu/114
marry a fool like you? Got no appreciation of good music, and never will have. Haven't even got a little horse sense."
"Shut up, damn you. I got just as good an education as you, Amy Hammond. Amy! If you play that piano, you'll go to work with a black eye tomorrow."
"Oh! I will, huh? And you'll never see your little Amy any more."
"No such luck, Amy; you know when you got it good, and you'd soon be back. Damn you! what d'you have to play that piece again for? You know I don't like it. I'm going to sell that damned piano!"
"Who's going to buy it?"
"Amy! By God, some day I'm going to break that damn' neck of yours."
"Yeh? What about funeral expenses; where you going to get 'em? And what about your own neck?"
"My neck's all right; you just watch out for yours."
"Aw, sign off, Jack. Be yourself. Go out and get an education."
"Damn you, Amy! Some day"
"Yeh! Some day you'll break my neck; that's ancient history, Jack."
"Well, damn you, some day I will."
"Oh! yeh! yeh! Of course!"
One night Amy's brother Jim set the supper table as usual, and went out for a package of cigarettes. When he came back he found Jack home, surly as always, with an expression on his face that scared Amy's brother.
"Where's Amy, Jack?"
"She ain't home yet, Jim. Ain't seen her on the way, have you?"
"No."
"Where in thunder is she, then? She ought to be home by now."
"Yeh! She ought to."
Jack sat down and began to eat his supper. From time to time he glanced nervously at the door.
"What in hell's keeping that woman? Sure she isn't home?"
"She didn't come in."
Jack kept on eating. Suddenly the staccato notes of Rachmaninoff's Melodie in E Minor came to the ears of the two men in the kitchen. Jack dropped his fork with a curse, and looked at Amy's brother. Cowed, the youth shrank into a corner. But curiously, Jack's glance was not of anger, and Amy's brother picked up courage.
"It's Amy, Jack. She's come in by the winder."
"My God! Do you hear the piano, Jim?"
"Sure. It's Amy."
Jack got up from the table slowly. His hands hung limply by his side; his face twitched spasmodically.
"Don't hurt her, Jack. Don't hurt her, please."
Jack Hammond did not notice the youth in the corner. For a second he stood before the parlor door. Then he turned to Amy's brother.
"Call Amy, Jim."
"Amy! Amy!" The youth stuck his head into the parlor. "She don't answer, Jack. I can't see very well; it's kinda dark in there." He turned and looked at Jack curiously. "Maybe it ain't Amy; huh, Jack?"
With a stifled sound Jack Hammond sank back into a chair. "No! No! My God! It ain't Amy! It can't be Amy! No! It ain't!"
He rose a second time and moved jerkily toward the parlor door. The piece ended abruptly, then began over again.
Something like a sob escaped Jack. "My God! I killed Amy just before—she started playing again—that damned piece! It ain't Amy. I killed her!"
Without a sound he pitched forward and lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.