A Cold Greeting by Ambrose Bierce
This is a story told by the late Benson Foley of San Francisco:
“In the summer of 1881 I met a man named James H. Conway, a resident
of Franklin, Tennessee. He was visiting San Francisco for his
health, deluded man, and brought me a note of introduction from Mr.
Lawrence Barting. I had known Barting as a captain in the Federal
army during the civil war. At its close he had settled in Franklin,
and in time became, I had reason to think, somewhat prominent as a lawyer.
Barting had always seemed to me an honorable and truthful man, and the
warm friendship which he expressed in his note for Mr. Conway was to
me sufficient evidence that the latter was in every way worthy of my
confidence and esteem. At dinner one day Conway told me that it
had been solemnly agreed between him and Barting that the one who died
first should, if possible, communicate with the other from beyond the
grave, in some unmistakable way - just how, they had left (wisely, it
seemed to me) to be decided by the deceased, according to the opportunities
that his altered circumstances might present.
“A few weeks after the conversation in which Mr. Conway spoke
of this agreement, I met him one day, walking slowly down Montgomery
street, apparently, from his abstracted air, in deep thought.
He greeted me coldly with merely a movement of the head and passed on,
leaving me standing on the walk, with half-proffered hand, surprised
and naturally somewhat piqued. The next day I met him again in
the office of the Palace Hotel, and seeing him about to repeat the disagreeable
performance of the day before, intercepted him in a doorway, with a
friendly salutation, and bluntly requested an explanation of his altered
manner. He hesitated a moment; then, looking me frankly in the
“‘I do not think, Mr. Foley, that I have any longer a claim
to your friendship, since Mr. Barting appears to have withdrawn his
own from me - for what reason, I protest I do not know. If he
has not already informed you he probably will do so.’
“‘But,’ I replied, ‘I have not heard from Mr.
“‘Heard from him!’ he repeated, with apparent surprise.
‘Why, he is here. I met him yesterday ten minutes before
meeting you. I gave you exactly the same greeting that he gave
me. I met him again not a quarter of an hour ago, and his manner
was precisely the same: he merely bowed and passed on. I shall
not soon forget your civility to me. Good morning, or - as it
may please you - farewell.’
“All this seemed to me singularly considerate and delicate behavior
on the part of Mr. Conway.
“As dramatic situations and literary effects are foreign to my
purpose I will explain at once that Mr. Barting was dead. He had
died in Nashville four days before this conversation. Calling
on Mr. Conway, I apprised him of our friend’s death, showing him
the letters announcing it. He was visibly affected in a way that
forbade me to entertain a doubt of his sincerity.
“‘It seems incredible,’ he said, after a period of
reflection. ‘I suppose I must have mistaken another man
for Barting, and that man’s cold greeting was merely a stranger’s
civil acknowledgment of my own. I remember, indeed, that he lacked
“‘Doubtless it was another man,’ I assented; and the
subject was never afterward mentioned between us. But I had in
my pocket a photograph of Barting, which had been inclosed in the letter
from his widow. It had been taken a week before his death, and
was without a mustache.”