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diff --git a/26950-h/26950-h.htm b/26950-h/26950-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3875763 --- /dev/null +++ b/26950-h/26950-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14743 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Humorous Ghost Stories, by Dorothy Scarborough + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1.25em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + + p.hang {text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;} + + .noindent {text-indent: 0em;} + +/* all headings centered */ + h1 {text-align: center; clear: both; } + h2 {text-align: center; margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 2em; clear: both; } + h3 {text-align: center; clear: both; } + h4 {text-align: center; clear: both; } + h5,h6 {text-align: center; clear: both; } + + hr { width: 33%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; clear: both; } + +div.trans-note {border-style: solid; border-width: 1px; + background-color: #DEE; color: #000; + margin: 3em 15%; padding: 1em; text-align: left;} + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + .tdl {text-indent: 2em; font-size: 90%;} + +/* LISTS */ + ul { position: relative; width: 80%; margin-left: 5%; + list-style-type: none;} + + li { margin-top: 0.5em; line-height: 1.2em; font-size: 90%; } + + body{margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; } + + .pagenum { position: absolute; left: 1%; font-size: 75%; + text-align: right; } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%;font-size: 95%; } + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; width: 40%; margin: auto; + text-align: center; } + + .bbox2 {border: solid 2px; width: 60%; margin: auto; padding: 1em; } + + .g {letter-spacing: 0.5em;} + + .totoc {position: absolute; right: 2%; font-size: 75%; text-align: right;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +/* FOOTNOTES */ + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px; margin-top:1em; clear: both;} + .footnotes h3 { margin-top: 0.5em;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 82%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left; + font-size: 0.9em;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Humorous Ghost Stories, by Dorothy Scarborough + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Humorous Ghost Stories + +Author: Dorothy Scarborough + +Release Date: October 18, 2008 [EBook #26950] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUMOROUS GHOST STORIES *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Marcia Brooks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +book was produced from scanned images of public domain +material from the Google Print project.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>HUMOROUS GHOST<br /> +STORIES</h1> +<br /> +<h4>SELECTED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION</h4> +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2>DOROTHY SCARBOROUGH, <span class="smcap">Ph.D.</span></h2> +<h5>LECTURER IN ENGLISH, COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY<br /> +AUTHOR OF “THE SUPERNATURAL IN MODERN ENGLISH FICTION,”<br /> +“FUGITIVE VERSES,” “FROM A SOUTHERN PORCH,” ETC.<br /> +COMPILER OF “FAMOUS MODERN GHOST STORIES”</h5> +<br /> +<center>G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS<br /> +NEW YORK AND LONDON<br /> +The Knickerbocker Press<br /> +1921</center> +<br /> +<h5><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1921<br /> +BY<br /> +DOROTHY SCARBOROUGH</h5> + +<h6><i>Printed in the United States of America</i></h6> +<br /> + + + +<center> +To<br /> +DR. AND MRS. JOHN T. HARRINGTON<br /> +</center> +<div style="margin-left: 12em;"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Life flings miles and years between us,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>It is true,—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>But brings never to me dearer</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Friends than you!</i><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + + +<h2><a name="The_Humorous_Ghost" id="The_Humorous_Ghost"></a>The Humorous Ghost</h2> + +<h3>INTRODUCTION</h3> + + +<p>The humorous ghost is distinctly a modern +character. In early literature wraiths took themselves +very seriously, and insisted on a proper show +of respectful fear on the part of those whom they +honored by haunting. A mortal was expected to +rise when a ghost entered the room, and in case he +was slow about it, his spine gave notice of what +etiquette demanded. In the event of outdoor apparition, +if a man failed to bare his head in awe, +the roots of his hair reminded him of his remissness. +Woman has always had the advantage over +man in such emergency, in that her locks, being +long and pinned up, are less easily moved—which +may explain the fact (if it be a fact!) that in fiction +women have shown themselves more self-possessed +in ghostly presence than men. Or possibly a +woman knows that a masculine spook is, after all, +only a man, and therefore may be charmed into +helplessness, while the feminine can be seen +through by another woman and thus disarmed. +The majority of the comic apparitions, curiously +enough, are masculine. You don't often find +women wraithed in smiles—perhaps because they +resent being made ridiculous, even after they're +dead. Or maybe the reason lies in the fact that +men have written most of the comic or satiric +ghost stories, and have chivalrously spared the +gentler shades. And there are very few funny +child-ghosts—you might almost say none, in comparison +with the number of grown-ups. The number +of ghost children of any or all types is small +proportionately—perhaps because it seems an +unnatural thing for a child to die under any circumstances, +while to make of him a butt for jokes +would be unfeeling. There are a few instances, +as in the case of the ghost baby mentioned later, +but very few.</p> + +<p>Ancient ghosts were a long-faced lot. They +didn't know how to play at all. They had been +brought up in stern repression of frivolities as +haunters—no matter how sportive they may have +been in life—and in turn they cowed mortals into +a servile submission. No doubt they thought of +men and women as mere youngsters that must be +taught their place, since any living person, however +senile, would be thought juvenile compared with a +timeless spook.</p> + +<p>But in these days of individualism and radical +liberalism, spooks as well as mortals are expanding +their personalities and indulging in greater freedom. +A ghost can call his shade his own now, and +exhibit any mood he pleases. Even young female +wraiths, demanding latchkeys, refuse to obey the +frowning face of the clock, and engage in light-hearted +ebullience to make the ghost of Mrs. +Grundy turn a shade paler in horror. Nowadays +haunters have more fun and freedom than the +haunted. In fact, it's money in one's pocket +these days to be dead, for ghosts have no rent +problems, and dead men pay no bills. What +officer would willingly pursue a ghostly tenant to +his last lodging in order to serve summons on him? +And suppose a ghost brought into court demanded +trial by a jury of his peers? No—manifestly +death has compensations not connected with the +consolations of religion.</p> + +<p>The marvel is that apparitions were so long in +realizing their possibilities, in improving their +advantages. The specters in classic and medieval +literature were malarial, vaporous beings without +energy to do anything but threaten, and mortals +never would have trembled with fear at their frown +if they had known how feeble they were. At best +a revenant could only rattle a rusty skeleton, or +shake a moldy shroud, or clank a chain—but as +mortals cowered before his demonstrations, he +didn't worry. If he wished to evoke the extreme +of anguish from his host, he raised a menacing arm +and uttered a windy word or two. Now it takes +more than that to produce a panic. The up-to-date +ghost keeps his skeleton in a garage or some +place where it is cleaned and oiled and kept in +good working order. The modern wraith has +sold his sheet to the old clo'es man, and dresses as +in life. Now the ghost has learned to have a +variety of good times, and he can make the living +squirm far more satisfyingly than in the past. +The spook of to-day enjoys making his haunted +laugh even while he groans in terror. He knows +that there's no weapon, no threat, in horror, to be +compared with ridicule.</p> + +<p>Think what a solemn creature the Gothic ghost +was! How little originality and initiative he +showed and how dependent he was on his own +atmosphere for thrills! His sole appeal was to the +spinal column. The ghost of to-day touches the +funny bone as well. He adds new horrors to being +haunted, but new pleasures also. The modern +specter can be a joyous creature on occasion, as +he can be, when he wishes, fearsome beyond the +dreams of classic or Gothic revenant. He has a +keen sense of humor and loves a good joke on a +mortal, while he can even enjoy one on himself. +Though his fun is of comparatively recent origin—it's +less than a century since he learned to crack +a smile—the laughing ghost is very much alive +and sportively active. Some of these new spooks +are notoriously good company. Many Americans +there are to-day who would court being haunted +by the captain and crew of Richard Middleton's +Ghost Ship that landed in a turnip field and dispensed +drink till they demoralized the denizens of +village and graveyard alike. After that show of +spirits, the turnips in that field tasted of rum, long +after the ghost ship had sailed away into the blue.</p> + +<p>The modern spook is possessed not only of +humor but of a caustic satire as well. His jest is +likely to have more than one point to it, and he can +haunt so insidiously, can make himself so at home +in his host's study or bedroom that a man actually +welcomes a chat with him—only to find out +too late that his human foibles have been mercilessly +flayed. Pity the poor chap in H. C. Bunner's +story, <i>The Interfering Spook</i>, for instance, +who was visited nightly by a specter that repeated +to him all the silly and trite things he had said +during the day, a ghost, moreover, that towered +and swelled at every hackneyed phrase, till +finally he filled the room and burst after the young +man proposed to his admired one, and made subsequent +remarks. Ghosts not only have appallingly +long memories, but they possess a mean +advantage over the living in that they have once +been mortal, while the men and women they haunt +haven't yet been ghosts. Suppose each one of us +were to be haunted by his own inane utterances? +True, we're told that we'll have to give account +Some Day for every idle word, but recording angels +seem more sympathetic than a sneering ghost at +one's elbow. Ghosts can satirize more fittingly +than anyone else the absurdities of certain psychic +claims, as witness the delightful seriousness of +the story <i>Back from that Bourne</i>, which appeared +as a front page news story in the New York <i>Sun</i> +years ago. I should think that some of the futile, +laggard messenger-boy ghosts that one reads about +nowadays would blush with shame before the +wholesome raillery of the porgy fisherman.</p> + +<p>The modern humorous ghost satirizes everything +from the old-fashioned specter (he's very +fond of taking pot-shots at him) to the latest +psychic manifestations. He laughs at ghosts +that aren't experts in efficiency haunting, and he +has a lot of fun out of mortals for being scared of +specters. He loves to shake the lugubrious terrors +of the past before you, exposing their hollow +futility, and he contrives to create new fears for +you magically while you are laughing at him.</p> + +<p>The new ghost hates conventionality and uses +the old thrills only to show what dead batteries +they come from. His really electrical effects are +his own inventions. He needs no dungeon keeps +and monkish cells to play about in—not he! He +demands no rag nor bone nor clank of chain of his +old equipment to start on his career. He can +start up a moving picture show of his own, as in +Ruth McEnery Stuart's <i>The Haunted Photograph</i>, +and demonstrate a new kind of apparition. The +ghost story of to-day gives you spinal sensations +with a difference, as in the immortal <i>Transferred +Ghost</i>, by Frank R. Stockton, where the suitor on +the moonlit porch, attempting to tell his fair +one that he dotes on her, sees the ghost of her +ferocious uncle (who isn't dead!) kicking his heels +against the railing, and hears his admonition that +he'd better hurry up, as the live uncle is coming in +sight. The thrill with which you read of the ghost +in Ellis Parker Butler's <i>The Late John Wiggins</i>, +who deposits his wooden leg with the family he is +haunting, on the plea that it is too materialistic to +be worn with ease, and therefore they must take +care of it for him, doesn't altogether leave you +even when you discover that the late John is a +fraud, has never been a ghost nor used a wooden +leg. But a terrifying leg-acy while you do believe +in it!</p> + +<p>The new ghost has a more nimble and versatile +tongue as well as wit. In the older fiction and +drama apparitions spoke seldom, and then merely +as <i>ghosts</i>, not as individuals. And ghosts, like +kings in drama, were of a dignity and must preserve +it in their speech. Or perhaps the authors +were doubtful as to the dialogue of shades, and +compromised on a few stately ejaculations as being +safely phantasmal speaking parts. But compare +that usage with the rude freedom of some modern +spooks, as John Kendrick Bangs's spectral cook of +Bangletop, who lets fall her h's and twists grammar +in a rare and diverting manner. For myself, I'd +hate to be an old-fashioned ghost with no chance +to keep up with the styles in slang. Think of +having always—and always—to speak a dead +language!</p> + +<p>The humorous ghost is not only modern, but he +is distinctively American. There are ghosts of all +nationalities, naturally, but the spook that provides +a joke—on his host or on himself—is Yankee +in origin and development. The dry humor, the +comic sense of the incongruous, the willingness to +laugh at himself as at others, carry over into +immaterialization as characteristic American +qualities and are preserved in their true flavor. +I don't assert, of course, that Americans have been +the only ones in this field. The French and English +selections in this volume are sufficient to +prove the contrary. Gautier's <i>The Mummy's +Foot</i> has a humor of a lightness and grace as delicate +as the princess's little foot itself. There are +various English stories of whimsical haunting, +some of actual spooks and some of the hoax type. +Hoax ghosts are fairly numerous in British as in +American literature, one of the early specimens of +the kind being <i>The Specter of Tappington</i> in the +<i>Ingoldsby Legends</i>. The files of <i>Blackwood's +Magazine</i> reveal several examples, though not of +high literary value.</p> + +<p>Of the early specimens of the really amusing +ghost that is an actual revenant is <i>The Ghost Baby</i>, +in <i>Blackwood's</i>, which shows originality and humor, +yet is too diffuse for printing here. In that we +have a conventional young bachelor, engaged to a +charming girl, who is entangled in social complications +and made to suffer mental torment because, +without his consent, he has been chosen as the +nurse and guardian of a ghost baby that cradles +after him wherever he goes. This is a rich story +almost spoiled by being poorly told. I sigh to +think of the laughs that Frank R. Stockton or +John Kendrick Bangs or Gelett Burgess could +have got out of the situation. There are other +comic British spooks, as in Baring-Gould's <i>A +Happy Release</i>, where a widow and a widower in +love are haunted by the jealous ghosts of their +respective spouses, till the phantom couple take +a liking to each other and decide to let the living +bury their dead. This is suggestive of Brander +Matthews's earlier and cleverer story of a spectral +courtship, in <i>The Rival Ghosts</i>. Medieval and +later literature gave us many instances of a love +affair or marriage between one spirit and one mortal, +but it remained for the modern American to +celebrate the nuptials of two ghosts. Think of +being married when you know that you and the +other party are going to live ever after—whether +happily or no! Truly, the present terrors are +more fearsome than the old!</p> + +<p>The stories by Eden Phillpotts and Richard +Middleton in this collection show the diversity of +the English humor as associated with apparitions, +and are entertaining in themselves. The <i>Canterville +Ghost</i>, by Oscar Wilde, is one of his best +short stories and is in his happiest vein of laughing +satire. This travesty on the conventional traditions +of the wraith is preposterously delightful, +one of the cleverest ghost stories in our language. +Zangwill has written engagingly of spooks, with +a laughable story about Samuel Johnson. And +there are others. But the fact remains that in +spite of conceded and admirable examples, the +humorous ghost story is for the most part American +in creation and spirit. Washington Irving +might be said to have started that fashion in +skeletons and shades, for he has given us various +comic haunters, some real and some make-believe. +Frank R. Stockton gave his to funny spooks with a +riotous and laughing pen. The spirit in his <i>Transferred +Ghost</i> is impudently deathless, and has +called up a train of subsequent haunters. John +Kendrick Bangs has made the darker regions seem +comfortable and homelike for us, and has created +ghosts so human and so funny that we look forward +to being one—or more. We feel downright +neighborly toward such specters as the futile “last +ghost” Nelson Lloyd evokes for us, as we appreciate +the satire of Rose O'Neill's sophisticated wraith. +The daring concept of Gelett Burgess's Ghost Extinguisher +is altogether American. The field is still +comparatively limited, but a number of Americans +have done distinctive work in it. The +specter now wears motley instead of a shroud, +and shakes his jester's bells the while he rattles his +bones. I dare any, however grouchy, reader to +finish the stories in this volume without having +a kindlier feeling toward ghosts!</p> + +<p style="text-align: right;">D. S.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">New York</span>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>March, 1921</i>.</span></p> +<br /><br /> + + +<a name="toc" id="toc"></a> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of Contents" width="50%"> +<tr> + <td></td> + <td align='right'><small>PAGE</small></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#The_Humorous_Ghost">Introduction: The Humorous Ghost</a></span></td> + <td align='right'>vii</td></tr> +<tr class="tdl"> +<td align='left'> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'><a href="#THE_CANTERVILLE_GHOST"><span class="smcap">The Canterville Ghost</span></a></td> +<td align='right'>3</td> +</tr> +<tr class="tdl"> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">By Oscar Wilde</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'><a href="#THE_GHOST-EXTINGUISHER"><span class="smcap">The Ghost-Extinguisher</span></a></td> +<td align='right'>51</td></tr> +<tr class="tdl"> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">By Gelett Burgess</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'><a href="#DEY_AINT_NO_GHOSTS"><span class="smcap">“Dey Ain't No Ghosts”</span></a></td> +<td align='right'>69</td></tr> +<tr class="tdl"> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">By Ellis Parker Butler</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'><a href="#THE_TRANSFERRED_GHOST"><span class="smcap">The Transferred Ghost</span></a></td> +<td align='right'>89</td></tr> +<tr class="tdl"> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">By Frank R. Stockton</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'><a href="#THE_MUMMYS_FOOT"><span class="smcap">The Mummy's Foot</span></a></td> +<td align='right'>109</td></tr> +<tr class="tdl"> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">By Théophile Gautier</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'><a href="#THE_RIVAL_GHOSTS"><span class="smcap">The Rival Ghosts</span></a></td> +<td align='right'>129</td></tr> +<tr class="tdl"> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">By Brander Matthews</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'><a href="#THE_WATER_GHOST_OF_HARROWBY_HALL"><span class="smcap">The Water Ghost of Harrowby Hall</span></a></td> +<td align='right'>159</td></tr> +<tr class="tdl"> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">By John Kendrick Bangs</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'><a href="#BACK_FROM_THAT_BOURNE"><span class="smcap">Back from that Bourne</span></a></td> +<td align='right'>175</td></tr> +<tr class="tdl"> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Anonymous</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'><a href="#THE_GHOST-SHIP"><span class="smcap">The Ghost-Ship</span></a></td> +<td align='right'>187</td></tr> +<tr class="tdl"> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">By Richard Middleton</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'><a href="#THE_TRANSPLANTED_GHOST"><span class="smcap">The Transplanted Ghost</span></a></td> +<td align='right'>205</td></tr> +<tr class="tdl"> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">By Wallace Irwin</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'><a href="#THE_LAST_GHOST_IN_HARMONY"><span class="smcap">The Last Ghost in Harmony</span></a></td> +<td align='right'>229</td></tr> +<tr class="tdl"> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">By Nelson Lloyd</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'><a href="#THE_GHOST_OF_MISER_BRIMPSON"><span class="smcap">The Ghost of Miser Brimpson</span></a></td> +<td align='right'>247</td></tr> +<tr class="tdl"> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">By Eden Phillpotts</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'><a href="#THE_HAUNTED_PHOTOGRAPH"><span class="smcap">The Haunted Photograph</span></a></td> +<td align='right'>275</td></tr> +<tr class="tdl"> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">By Ruth McEnery Stuart</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'><a href="#THE_GHOST_THAT_GOT_THE_BUTTON"><span class="smcap">The Ghost that Got the Button</span></a></td> +<td align='right'>295</td></tr> +<tr class="tdl"> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">By Will Adams</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'><a href="#THE_SPECTER_BRIDEGROOM"><span class="smcap">The Specter Bridegroom</span></a></td> +<td align='right'>315</td></tr> +<tr class="tdl"> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">By Washington Irving</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'><a href="#THE_SPECTER_OF_TAPPINGTON"><span class="smcap">The Specter of Tappington</span></a></td> +<td align='right'>341</td></tr> +<tr class="tdl"> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Compiled by Richard Barham</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'><a href="#IN_THE_BARN"><span class="smcap">In the Barn</span></a></td> +<td align='right'>385</td></tr> +<tr class="tdl"> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">By Burges Johnson</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'><a href="#A_SHADY_PLOT"><span class="smcap">A Shady Plot</span></a></td> +<td align='right'>403</td></tr> +<tr class="tdl"> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">By Elsie Brown</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'><a href="#THE_LADY_AND_THE_GHOST"><span class="smcap">The Lady and the Ghost</span></a></td> +<td align='right'>425</td></tr> +<tr class="tdl"> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">By Rose Cecil O'Neill</span></td> +</tr> +</table></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<h1>HUMOROUS GHOST STORIES</h1> +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="THE_CANTERVILLE_GHOST" id="THE_CANTERVILLE_GHOST"></a>THE CANTERVILLE GHOST</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><i>An amusing chronicle of the tribulations of the Ghost of +Canterville Chase when his ancestral halls became +the home of the American Minister to the Court of +St. James.</i></p></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">By OSCAR WILDE</span></h4> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span> + + +<h2>The Canterville Ghost</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By OSCAR WILDE</span></h4> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>When Mr. Hiram B. Otis, the American Minister, +bought Canterville Chase, everyone told him +he was doing a very foolish thing, as there was no +doubt at all that the place was haunted. Indeed, +Lord Canterville himself, who was a man of the +most punctilious honor, had felt it his duty to +mention the fact to Mr. Otis when they came to +discuss terms.</p> + +<p>“We have not cared to live in the place ourselves,” +said Lord Canterville, “since my grand-aunt, +the Dowager Duchess of Bolton, was +frightened into a fit, from which she never really +recovered, by two skeleton hands being placed on +her shoulders as she was dressing for dinner, and I +feel bound to tell you, Mr. Otis, that the ghost has +been seen by several living members of my family, +as well as by the rector of the parish, the Rev. Augustus +Dampier, who is a Fellow of King's College, +Cambridge. After the unfortunate accident to the +Duchess, none of our younger servants would stay +with us, and Lady Canterville often got very little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> +sleep at night, in consequence of the mysterious +noises that came from the corridor and the +library.”</p> + +<p>“My Lord,” answered the Minister, “I will +take the furniture and the ghost at a valuation. I +have come from a modern country, where we have +everything that money can buy; and with all our +spry young fellows painting the Old World red, +and carrying off your best actors and prima-donnas, +I reckon that if there were such a thing as +a ghost in Europe, we'd have it at home in a very +short time in one of our public museums, or on the +road as a show.”</p> + +<p>“I fear that the ghost exists,” said Lord Canterville, +smiling, “though it may have resisted the +overtures of your enterprising impresarios. It has +been well known for three centuries, since 1584 in +fact, and always makes its appearance before the +death of any member of our family.”</p> + +<p>“Well, so does the family doctor for that matter, +Lord Canterville. But there is no such thing, sir, +as a ghost, and I guess the laws of Nature are not +going to be suspended for the British aristocracy.”</p> + +<p>“You are certainly very natural in America,” +answered Lord Canterville, who did not quite +understand Mr. Otis's last observation, “and if you +don't mind a ghost in the house, it is all right. +Only you must remember I warned you.”</p> + +<p>A few weeks after this, the purchase was concluded, +and at the close of the season the Minister +and his family went down to Canterville Chase.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> +Mrs. Otis, who, as Miss Lucretia R. Tappan, of +West 53d Street, had been a celebrated New York +belle, was now a very handsome, middle-aged +woman, with fine eyes, and a superb profile. Many +American ladies on leaving their native land adopt +an appearance of chronic ill-health, under the +impression that it is a form of European refinement, +but Mrs. Otis had never fallen into this +error. She had a magnificent constitution, and a +really wonderful amount of animal spirits. Indeed, +in many respects, she was quite English, and +was an excellent example of the fact that we have +really everything in common with America nowadays, +except, of course, language. Her eldest son, +christened Washington by his parents in a moment +of patriotism, which he never ceased to regret, was +a fair-haired, rather good-looking young man, who +had qualified himself for American diplomacy by +leading the German at the Newport Casino for +three successive seasons, and even in London was +well known as an excellent dancer. Gardenias and +the peerage were his only weaknesses. Otherwise +he was extremely sensible. Miss Virginia E. Otis +was a little girl of fifteen, lithe and lovely as a fawn, +and with a fine freedom in her large blue eyes. +She was a wonderful Amazon, and had once raced +old Lord Bilton on her pony twice round the park, +winning by a length and a half, just in front of the +Achilles statue, to the huge delight of the young +Duke of Cheshire, who proposed for her on the +spot, and was sent back to Eton that very night<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +by his guardians, in floods of tears. After Virginia +came the twins, who were usually called “The Stars +and Stripes,” as they were always getting swished. +They were delightful boys, and, with the exception +of the worthy Minister, the only true republicans +of the family.</p> + +<p>As Canterville Chase is seven miles from Ascot, +the nearest railway station, Mr. Otis had telegraphed +for a wagonette to meet them, and they +started on their drive in high spirits. It was a +lovely July evening, and the air was delicate with +the scent of the pinewoods. Now and then they +heard a wood-pigeon brooding over its own sweet +voice, or saw, deep in the rustling fern, the burnished +breast of the pheasant. Little squirrels +peered at them from the beech-trees as they went +by, and the rabbits scudded away through the +brushwood and over the mossy knolls, with their +white tails in the air. As they entered the avenue +of Canterville Chase, however, the sky became +suddenly overcast with clouds, a curious stillness +seemed to hold the atmosphere, a great flight of +rooks passed silently over their heads, and, before +they reached the house, some big drops of rain had +fallen.</p> + +<p>Standing on the steps to receive them was an +old woman, neatly dressed in black silk, with a +white cap and apron. This was Mrs. Umney, the +housekeeper, whom Mrs. Otis, at Lady Canterville's +earnest request, had consented to keep in +her former position. She made them each a low<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> +curtsy as they alighted, and said in a quaint, old-fashioned +manner, “I bid you welcome to Canterville +Chase.” Following her, they passed through +the fine Tudor hall into the library, a long, low +room, paneled in black oak, at the end of which +was a large stained glass window. Here they found +tea laid out for them, and, after taking off their +wraps, they sat down and began to look round, +while Mrs. Umney waited on them.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Mrs. Otis caught sight of a dull red +stain on the floor just by the fireplace, and, quite +unconscious of what it really signified, said to Mrs. +Umney, “I am afraid something has been spilled +there.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, madam,” replied the old housekeeper in a +low voice, “blood has been spilled on that spot.”</p> + +<p>“How horrid!” cried Mrs. Otis; “I don't at all +care for blood-stains in a sitting-room. It must be +removed at once.”</p> + +<p>The old woman smiled, and answered in the same +low, mysterious voice, “It is the blood of Lady +Eleanore de Canterville, who was murdered on that +very spot by her own husband, Sir Simon de Canterville, +in 1575. Sir Simon survived her nine +years, and disappeared suddenly under very mysterious +circumstances. His body has never been +discovered, but his guilty spirit still haunts the +Chase. The blood-stain has been much admired +by tourists and others, and cannot be removed.”</p> + +<p>“That is all nonsense,” cried Washington Otis; +“Pinkerton's Champion Stain Remover and Paragon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +Detergent will clean it up in no time,” and +before the terrified housekeeper could interfere, +he had fallen upon his knees, and was rapidly scouring +the floor with a small stick of what looked like +a black cosmetic. In a few moments no trace of +the blood-stain could be seen.</p> + +<p>“I knew Pinkerton would do it,” he exclaimed, +triumphantly, as he looked round at his admiring +family; but no sooner had he said these words than +a terrible flash of lightning lit up the somber room, +a fearful peal of thunder made them all start to +their feet, and Mrs. Umney fainted.</p> + +<p>“What a monstrous climate!” said the American +Minister, calmly, as he lit a long cheroot. “I +guess the old country is so overpopulated that they +have not enough decent weather for everybody. +I have always been of opinion that emigration is +the only thing for England.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Hiram,” cried Mrs. Otis, “what can +we do with a woman who faints?”</p> + +<p>“Charge it to her like breakages,” answered the +Minister; “she won't faint after that”; and in a +few moments Mrs. Umney certainly came to. +There was no doubt, however, that she was extremely +upset, and she sternly warned Mr. Otis to +beware of some trouble coming to the house.</p> + +<p>“I have seen things with my own eyes, sir,” she +said, “that would make any Christian's hair stand +on end, and many and many a night I have not +closed my eyes in sleep for the awful things that +are done here.” Mr. Otis, however, and his wife<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +warmly assured the honest soul that they were not +afraid of ghosts, and, after invoking the blessings +of Providence on her new master and mistress, and +making arrangements for an increase of salary, the +old housekeeper tottered off to her own room.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>The storm raged fiercely all that night, but +nothing of particular note occurred. The next +morning, however, when they came down to breakfast, +they found the terrible stain of blood once +again on the floor. “I don't think it can be the +fault of the Paragon Detergent,” said Washington, +“for I have tried it with everything. It must +be the ghost.” He accordingly rubbed out the +stain a second time, but the second morning it +appeared again. The third morning also it was +there, though the library had been locked up at +night by Mr. Otis himself, and the key carried upstairs. +The whole family were now quite interested; +Mr. Otis began to suspect that he had +been too dogmatic in his denial of the existence of +ghosts, Mrs. Otis expressed her intention of joining +the Psychical Society, and Washington prepared a +long letter to Messrs. Myers and Podmore on the +subject of the Permanence of Sanguineous Stains +when connected with Crime. That night all doubts +about the objective existence of phantasmata were +removed forever.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> + +<p>The day had been warm and sunny; and, in the +cool of the evening, the whole family went out to +drive. They did not return home till nine o'clock, +when they had a light supper. The conversation +in no way turned upon ghosts, so there were not +even those primary conditions of receptive expectations +which so often precede the presentation of +psychical phenomena. The subjects discussed, as +I have since learned from Mr. Otis, were merely +such as form the ordinary conversation of cultured +Americans of the better class, such as the immense +superiority of Miss Fanny Devonport over Sarah +Bernhardt as an actress; the difficulty of obtaining +green corn, buckwheat cakes, and hominy, even in +the best English houses; the importance of Boston +in the development of the world-soul; the advantages +of the baggage-check system in railway traveling; +and the sweetness of the New York accent +as compared to the London drawl. No mention +at all was made of the supernatural, nor was Sir +Simon de Canterville alluded to in any way. At +eleven o'clock the family retired, and by half-past +all the lights were out. Some time after, Mr. Otis +was awakened by a curious noise in the corridor, +outside his room. It sounded like the clank of +metal, and seemed to be coming nearer every +moment. He got up at once, struck a match, and +looked at the time. It was exactly one o'clock. +He was quite calm, and felt his pulse, which was +not at all feverish. The strange noise still continued, +and with it he heard distinctly the sound<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +of footsteps. He put on his slippers, took a small +oblong phial out of his dressing-case, and opened +the door. Right in front of him he saw, in the wan +moonlight, an old man of terrible aspect. His eyes +were as red burning coals; long gray hair fell over +his shoulders in matted coils; his garments, which +were of antique cut, were soiled and ragged, and +from his wrists and ankles hung heavy manacles +and rusty gyves.</p> + +<p>“My dear sir,” said Mr. Otis, “I really must +insist on your oiling those chains, and have brought +you for that purpose a small bottle of the Tammany +Rising Sun Lubricator. It is said to be completely +efficacious upon one application, and there +are several testimonials to that effect on the wrapper +from some of our most eminent native divines. +I shall leave it here for you by the bedroom candles, +and will be happy to supply you with more, should +you require it.” With these words the United +States Minister laid the bottle down on a marble +table, and, closing his door, retired to rest.</p> + +<p>For a moment the Canterville ghost stood quite +motionless in natural indignation; then, dashing +the bottle violently upon the polished floor, he fled +down the corridor, uttering hollow groans, and +emitting a ghastly green light. Just, however, as +he reached the top of the great oak staircase, a +door was flung open, two little white-robed figures +appeared, and a large pillow whizzed past his head! +There was evidently no time to be lost, so, hastily +adopting the Fourth dimension of Space as a means<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +of escape, he vanished through the wainscoting, +and the house became quite quiet.</p> + +<p>On reaching a small secret chamber in the left +wing, he leaned up against a moonbeam to recover +his breath, and began to try and realize his position. +Never, in a brilliant and uninterrupted career of +three hundred years, had he been so grossly insulted. +He thought of the Dowager Duchess, +whom he had frightened into a fit as she stood before +the glass in her lace and diamonds; of the four +housemaids, who had gone into hysterics when he +merely grinned at them through the curtains on +one of the spare bedrooms; of the rector of the +parish, whose candle he had blown out as he was +coming late one night from the library, and who +had been under the care of Sir William Gull ever +since, a perfect martyr to nervous disorders; and of +old Madame de Tremouillac, who, having wakened +up one morning early and seen a skeleton seated in +an arm-chair by the fire reading her diary, had been +confined to her bed for six weeks with an attack +of brain fever, and, on her recovery, had become +reconciled to the Church, and broken off her connection +with that notorious skeptic, Monsieur de +Voltaire. He remembered the terrible night when +the wicked Lord Canterville was found choking +in his dressing-room, with the knave of diamonds +halfway down his throat, and confessed, just +before he died, that he had cheated Charles James +Fox out of £50,000 at Crockford's by means of +that very card, and swore that the ghost had made<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +him swallow it. All his great achievements came +back to him again, from the butler who had shot +himself in the pantry because he had seen a green +hand tapping at the windowpane, to the beautiful +Lady Stutfield, who was always obliged to wear a +black velvet band round her throat to hide the +mark of five fingers burnt upon her white skin, and +who drowned herself at last in the carp-pond at the +end of the King's Walk. With the enthusiastic +egotism of the true artist, he went over his most +celebrated performances, and smiled bitterly to +himself as he recalled to mind his last appearance +as “Red Reuben, or the Strangled Babe,” his <i>début</i> +as “Gaunt Gibeon, the Blood-sucker of Bexley +Moor,” and the <i>furore</i> he had excited one lovely +June evening by merely playing ninepins with his +own bones upon the lawn-tennis ground. And +after all this some wretched modern Americans +were to come and offer him the Rising Sun Lubricator, +and throw pillows at his head! It was quite +unbearable. Besides, no ghost in history had ever +been treated in this manner. Accordingly, he determined +to have vengeance, and remained till +daylight in an attitude of deep thought.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>The next morning, when the Otis family met at +breakfast, they discussed the ghost at some length. +The United States Minister was naturally a little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +annoyed to find that his present had not been +accepted. “I have no wish,” he said, “to do the +ghost any personal injury, and I must say that, +considering the length of time he has been in the +house, I don't think it is at all polite to throw pillows +at him,”—a very just remark, at which, I am +sorry to say, the twins burst into shouts of laughter. +“Upon the other hand,” he continued, “if he +really declines to use the Rising Sun Lubricator, +we shall have to take his chains from him. It +would be quite impossible to sleep, with such a +noise going on outside the bedrooms.”</p> + +<p>For the rest of the week, however, they were +undisturbed, the only thing that excited any attention +being the continual renewal of the blood-stain +on the library floor. This certainly was very +strange, as the door was always locked at night by +Mr. Otis, and the windows kept closely barred. +The chameleon-like color, also, of the stain excited +a good deal of comment. Some mornings it +was a dull (almost Indian) red, then it would be +vermilion, then a rich purple, and once when they +came down for family prayers, according to the +simple rites of the Free American Reformed Episcopalian +Church, they found it a bright emerald-green. +These kaleidoscopic changes naturally +amused the party very much, and bets on the subject +were freely made every evening. The only +person who did not enter into the joke was little +Virginia, who, for some unexplained reason, was +always a good deal distressed at the sight of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +blood-stain, and very nearly cried the morning it +was emerald-green.</p> + +<p>The second appearance of the ghost was on Sunday +night. Shortly after they had gone to bed +they were suddenly alarmed by a fearful crash in +the hall. Rushing downstairs, they found that a +large suit of old armor had become detached from +its stand, and had fallen on the stone floor, while +seated in a high-backed chair was the Canterville +ghost, rubbing his knees with an expression of +acute agony on his face. The twins, having +brought their pea-shooters with them, at once discharged +two pellets on him, with that accuracy of +aim which can only be attained by long and careful +practice on a writing-master, while the United +States Minister covered him with his revolver, +and called upon him, in accordance with Californian +etiquette, to hold up his hands! The ghost +started up with a wild shriek of rage, and swept +through them like a mist, extinguishing Washington +Otis's candle as he passed, and so leaving them +all in total darkness. On reaching the top of the +staircase he recovered himself, and determined to +give his celebrated peal of demoniac laughter. +This he had on more than one occasion found extremely +useful. It was said to have turned Lord +Raker's wig gray in a single night, and had certainly +made three of Lady Canterville's French +governesses give warning before their month was +up. He accordingly laughed his most horrible +laugh, till the old vaulted roof rang and rang again,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +but hardly had the fearful echo died away when a +door opened, and Mrs. Otis came out in a light +blue dressing-gown. “I am afraid you are far from +well,” she said, “and have brought you a bottle of +Doctor Dobell's tincture. If it is indigestion, you +will find it a most excellent remedy.” The ghost +glared at her in fury, and began at once to make +preparations for turning himself into a large black +dog, an accomplishment for which he was justly +renowned, and to which the family doctor always +attributed the permanent idiocy of Lord Canterville's +uncle, the Hon. Thomas Horton. The sound +of approaching footsteps, however, made him hesitate +in his fell purpose, so he contented himself +with becoming faintly phosphorescent, and vanished +with a deep churchyard groan, just as the +twins had come up to him.</p> + +<p>On reaching his room he entirely broke down, +and became a prey to the most violent agitation. +The vulgarity of the twins, and the gross materialism +of Mrs. Otis, were naturally extremely annoying, +but what really distressed him most was that +he had been unable to wear the suit of mail. He +had hoped that even modern Americans would be +thrilled by the sight of a Specter in armor, if for +no more sensible reason, at least out of respect for +their national poet Longfellow, over whose graceful +and attractive poetry he himself had whiled away +many a weary hour when the Cantervilles were up +in town. Besides it was his own suit. He had +worn it with great success at the Kenilworth tournament,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +and had been highly complimented on it +by no less a person than the Virgin Queen herself. +Yet when he had put it on, he had been completely +overpowered by the weight of the huge +breastplate and steel casque, and had fallen heavily +on the stone pavement, barking both his knees +severely, and bruising the knuckles of his right +hand.</p> + +<p>For some days after this he was extremely ill, +and hardly stirred out of his room at all, except to +keep the blood-stain in proper repair. However, +by taking great care of himself, he recovered, and +resolved to make a third attempt to frighten the +United States Minister and his family. He selected +Friday, August 17th, for his appearance, and spent +most of that day in looking over his wardrobe, +ultimately deciding in favor of a large slouched +hat with a red feather, a winding-sheet frilled at +the wrists and neck, and a rusty dagger. Towards +evening a violent storm of rain came on, and the +wind was so high that all the windows and doors in +the old house shook and rattled. In fact, it was +just such weather as he loved. His plan of action +was this. He was to make his way quietly to +Washington Otis's room, gibber at him from the +foot of the bed, and stab himself three times in the +throat to the sound of low music. He bore Washington +a special grudge, being quite aware that it +was he who was in the habit of removing the +famous Canterville blood-stain by means of Pinkerton's +Paragon Detergent. Having reduced the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +reckless and foolhardy youth to a condition of +abject terror, he was then to proceed to the room +occupied by the United States Minister and his +wife, and there to place a clammy hand on Mrs. +Otis's forehead, while he hissed into her trembling +husband's ear the awful secrets of the charnel-house. +With regard to little Virginia, he had not +quite made up his mind. She had never insulted +him in any way, and was pretty and gentle. A +few hollow groans from the wardrobe, he thought, +would be more than sufficient, or, if that failed to +wake her, he might grabble at the counterpane +with palsy-twitching fingers. As for the twins, +he was quite determined to teach them a lesson. +The first thing to be done was, of course, to sit +upon their chests, so as to produce the stifling sensation +of nightmare. Then, as their beds were +quite close to each other, to stand between them +in the form of a green, icy-cold corpse, till they +became paralyzed with fear, and finally, to throw +off the winding-sheet, and crawl round the room, +with white, bleached bones and one rolling eyeball +in the character of “Dumb Daniel, or the Suicide's +Skeleton,” a <i>rôle</i> in which he had on more than one +occasion produced a great effect, and which he +considered quite equal to his famous part of “Martin +the Maniac, or the Masked Mystery.”</p> + +<p>At half-past ten he heard the family going to +bed. For some time he was disturbed by wild +shrieks of laughter from the twins, who, with the +light-hearted gayety of schoolboys, were evidently<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +amusing themselves before they retired to rest, +but at a quarter-past eleven all was still, and, as +midnight sounded, he sallied forth. The owl beat +against the window-panes, the raven croaked from +the old yew-tree, and the wind wandered moaning +round the house like a lost soul; but the Otis family +slept unconscious of their doom, and high above +the rain and storm he could hear the steady snoring +of the Minister for the United States. He stepped +stealthily out of the wainscoting, with an evil smile +on his cruel, wrinkled mouth, and the moon hid her +face in a cloud as he stole past the great oriel +window, where his own arms and those of his murdered +wife were blazoned in azure and gold. On +and on he glided, like an evil shadow, the very +darkness seeming to loathe him as he passed. Once +he thought he heard something call, and stopped; +but it was only the baying of a dog from the Red +Farm, and he went on, muttering strange sixteenth +century curses, and ever and anon brandishing the +rusty dagger in the midnight air. Finally he +reached the corner of the passage that led to luckless +Washington's room. For a moment he paused +there, the wind blowing his long gray locks about +his head, and twisting into grotesque and fantastic +folds the nameless horror of the dead man's shroud. +Then the clock struck the quarter, and he felt the +time was come. He chuckled to himself, and +turned the corner; but no sooner had he done so +than, with a piteous wail of terror, he fell back, and +hid his blanched face in his long, bony hands.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +Right in front of him was standing a horrible +specter, motionless as a carven image, and monstrous +as a madman's dream! Its head was bald +and burnished; its face round, and fat, and white; +and hideous laughter seemed to have writhed its +features into an eternal grin. From the eyes +streamed rays of scarlet light, the mouth was a +wide well of fire, and a hideous garment, like to his +own, swathed with its silent snows the Titan form. +On its breast was a placard with strange writing +in antique characters, some scroll of shame it +seemed, some record of wild sins, some awful +calendar of crime, and, with its right hand, it bore +aloft a falchion of gleaming steel.</p> + +<p>Never having seen a ghost before, he naturally +was terribly frightened, and, after a second hasty +glance at the awful phantom, he fled back to his +room, tripping up in his long winding-sheet as he +sped down the corridor, and finally dropping the +rusty dagger into the Minister's jack-boots, where +it was found in the morning by the butler. Once +in the privacy of his own apartment, he flung himself +down on a small pallet-bed, and hid his face +under the clothes. After a time, however, the +brave old Canterville spirit asserted itself, and he +determined to go and speak to the other ghost as +soon as it was daylight. Accordingly, just as the +dawn was touching the hills with silver, he returned +towards the spot where he had first laid +eyes on the grisly phantom, feeling that, after all, +two ghosts were better than one, and that, by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +aid of his new friend, he might safely grapple with +the twins. On reaching the spot, however, a +terrible sight met his gaze. Something had evidently +happened to the specter, for the light had +entirely faded from its hollow eyes, the gleaming +falchion had fallen from its hand, and it was leaning +up against the wall in a strained and uncomfortable +attitude. He rushed forward and seized +it in his arms, when, to his horror, the head slipped +off and rolled on the floor, the body assumed a recumbent +posture, and he found himself clasping a +white dimity bed-curtain, with a sweeping-brush, +a kitchen cleaver, and a hollow turnip lying at his +feet! Unable to understand this curious transformation, +he clutched the placard with feverish +haste, and there, in the gray morning light, he read +these fearful words:</p> + +<div class="bbox"> +YE OTIS GHOSTE<br /> +Ye Onlie True and Originale Spook,<br /> +Beware of Ye Imitationes.<br /> +All others are counterfeite.<br /> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The whole thing flashed across him. He had been +tricked, foiled, and outwitted! The old Canterville +look came into his eyes; he ground his toothless +gums together; and, raising his withered hands +high above his head, swore according to the picturesque +phraseology of the antique school, that, +when Chanticleer had sounded twice his merry +horn, deeds of blood would be wrought, and murder +walk abroad with silent feet.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>Hardly had he finished this awful oath when, +from the red-tiled roof of a distant homestead, a +cock crew. He laughed a long, low, bitter laugh, +and waited. Hour after hour he waited, but the +cock, for some strange reason, did not crow again. +Finally, at half-past seven, the arrival of the housemaids +made him give up his fearful vigil, and he +stalked back to his room, thinking of his vain oath +and baffled purpose. There he consulted several +books of ancient chivalry, of which he was exceedingly +fond, and found that, on every occasion on +which this oath had been used, Chanticleer had +always crowed a second time. “Perdition seize +the naughty fowl,” he muttered, “I have seen the +day when, with my stout spear, I would have run +him through the gorge, and made him crow for +me an 'twere in death!” He then retired to a +comfortable lead coffin, and stayed there till +evening.</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>The next day the ghost was very weak and +tired. The terrible excitement of the last four +weeks was beginning to have its effect. His nerves +were completely shattered, and he started at the +slightest noise. For five days he kept his room, +and at last made up his mind to give up the point +of the blood-stain on the library floor. If the Otis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +family did not want it, they clearly did not deserve +it. They were evidently people on a low, material +plane of existence, and quite incapable of appreciating +the symbolic value of sensuous phenomena. +The question of phantasmic apparitions, and the +development of astral bodies, was of course quite a +different matter, and really not under his control. +It was his solemn duty to appear in the corridor +once a week, and to gibber from the large oriel +window on the first and third Wednesdays in every +month, and he did not see how he could honorably +escape from his obligations. It is quite true +that his life had been very evil, but, upon the other +hand, he was most conscientious in all things connected +with the supernatural. For the next three +Saturdays, accordingly, he traversed the corridor +as usual between midnight and three o'clock, +taking every possible precaution against being +either heard or seen. He removed his boots, trod +as lightly as possible on the old worm-eaten boards, +wore a large black velvet cloak, and was careful to +use the Rising Sun Lubricator for oiling his chains. +I am bound to acknowledge that it was with a good +deal of difficulty that he brought himself to adopt +this last mode of protection. However, one night, +while the family were at dinner, he slipped into +Mr. Otis's bedroom and carried off the bottle. He +felt a little humiliated at first, but afterwards was +sensible enough to see that there was a great deal +to be said for the invention, and, to a certain degree, +it served his purpose. Still, in spite of everything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +he was not left unmolested. Strings were +continually being stretched across the corridor, +over which he tripped in the dark, and on one +occasion, while dressed for the part of “Black +Isaac, or the Huntsman of Hogley Woods,” he met +with a severe fall, through treading on a butter-slide, +which the twins had constructed from the +entrance of the Tapestry Chamber to the top of +the oak staircase. This last insult so enraged him +that he resolved to make one final effort to assert +his dignity and social position, and determined to +visit the insolent young Etonians the next night in +his celebrated character of “Reckless Rupert, or +the Headless Earl.”</p> + +<p>He had not appeared in this disguise for more +than seventy years; in fact, not since he had so +frightened pretty Lady Barbara Modish by means +of it, that she suddenly broke off her engagement +with the present Lord Canterville's grandfather, +and ran away to Gretna Green with handsome +Jack Castletown, declaring that nothing in the +world would induce her to marry into a family +that allowed such a horrible phantom to walk up +and down the terrace at twilight. Poor Jack was +afterwards shot in a duel by Lord Canterville on +Wandsworth Common, and Lady Barbara died of +a broken heart at Tunbridge Wells before the year +was out, so, in every way, it had been a great +success. It was, however, an extremely difficult +“make-up,” if I may use such a theatrical expression +in connection with one of the greatest mysteries<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +of the supernatural, or, to employ a more +scientific term, the higher-natural world, and it +took him fully three hours to make his preparations. +At last everything was ready, and he was +very pleased with his appearance. The big leather +riding-boots that went with the dress were just a +little too large for him, and he could only find one +of the two horse-pistols, but, on the whole, he was +quite satisfied, and at a quarter-past one he glided +out of the wainscoting and crept down the corridor. +On reaching the room occupied by the twins, which +I should mention was called the Blue Bed Chamber +on account of the color of its hangings, he found +the door just ajar. Wishing to make an effective +entrance, he flung it wide open, when a heavy jug +of water fell right down on him, wetting him to the +skin, and just missing his left shoulder by a couple +of inches. At the same moment he heard stifled +shrieks of laughter proceeding from the four-post +bed. The shock to his nervous system was so great +that he fled back to his room as hard as he could go, +and the next day he was laid up with a severe cold. +The only thing that at all consoled him in the +whole affair was the fact that he had not brought +his head with him, for, had he done so, the consequences +might have been very serious.</p> + +<p>He now gave up all hope of ever frightening this +rude American family, and contented himself, as a +rule, with creeping about the passages in list slippers, +with a thick red muffler round his throat for +fear of draughts, and a small arquebus, in case he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +should be attacked by the twins. The final blow +he received occurred on the 19th of September. +He had gone downstairs to the great entrance-hall +feeling sure that there, at any rate, he would be +quite unmolested, and was amusing himself by +making satirical remarks on the large Saroni photographs +of the United States Minister and his wife, +which had now taken the place of the Canterville +family pictures. He was simply but neatly clad +in a long shroud, spotted with churchyard mold, +had tied up his jaw with a strip of yellow linen, and +carried a small lantern and a sexton's spade. In +fact, he was dressed for the character of “Jonas the +Graveless, or the Corpse-Snatcher of Chertsey +Barn,” one of his most remarkable impersonations, +and one which the Cantervilles had every reason +to remember, as it was the real origin of their +quarrel with their neighbor, Lord Rufford. It +was about a quarter-past two o'clock in the morning, +and, as far as he could ascertain, no one was +stirring. As he was strolling towards the library, +however, to see if there were any traces left of the +blood-stain, suddenly there leaped out on him from +a dark corner two figures, who waved their arms +wildly above their heads, and shrieked out “BOO!” +in his ear.</p> + +<p>Seized with a panic, which, under the circumstances, +was only natural, he rushed for the staircase, +but found Washington Otis waiting for him +there with the big garden-syringe, and being thus +hemmed in by his enemies on every side, and driven<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +almost to bay, he vanished into the great iron +stove, which, fortunately for him, was not lit, and +had to make his way home through the flues and +chimneys, arriving at his own room in a terrible +state of dirt, disorder, and despair.</p> + +<p>After this he was not seen again on any nocturnal +expedition. The twins lay in wait for him on +several occasions, and strewed the passages with +nutshells every night to the great annoyance of +their parents and the servants, but it was of no +avail. It was quite evident that his feelings were +so wounded that he would not appear. Mr. Otis +consequently resumed his great work on the history +of the Democratic party, on which he had +been engaged for some years; Mrs. Otis organized +a wonderful clam-bake, which amazed the whole +county; the boys took to lacrosse, euchre, poker, +and other American national games, and Virginia +rode about the lanes on her pony, accompanied by +the young Duke of Cheshire, who had come to +spend the last week of his holidays at Canterville +Chase. It was generally assumed that the ghost +had gone away, and, in fact, Mr. Otis wrote a letter +to that effect to Lord Canterville, who, in reply, +expressed his great pleasure at the news, and sent +his best congratulations to the Minister's worthy +wife.</p> + +<p>The Otises, however, were deceived, for the +ghost was still in the house, and though now almost +an invalid, was by no means ready to let matters +rest, particularly as he heard that among the guests<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +was the young Duke of Cheshire, whose grand-uncle, +Lord Francis Stilton, had once bet a hundred +guineas with Colonel Carbury that he would +play dice with the Canterville ghost, and was found +the next morning lying on the floor of the card-room +in such a helpless paralytic state that, though +he lived on to a great age, he was never able to say +anything again but “Double Sixes.” The story +was well known at the time, though, of course, out +of respect to the feelings of the two noble families, +every attempt was made to hush it up, and a full +account of all the circumstances connected with it +will be found in the third volume of Lord Tattle's +<i>Recollections of the Prince Regent and his Friends</i>. +The ghost, then, was naturally very anxious to +show that he had not lost his influence over the +Stiltons, with whom, indeed, he was distantly connected, +his own first cousin having been married <i>en +secondes noces</i> to the Sieur de Bulkeley, from whom, +as everyone knows, the Dukes of Cheshire are +lineally descended. Accordingly, he made arrangements +for appearing to Virginia's little lover in his +celebrated impersonation of “The Vampire Monk, +or the Bloodless Benedictine,” a performance so +horrible that when old Lady Startup saw it, which +she did on one fatal New Year's Eve, in the +year 1764, she went off into the most piercing +shrieks, which culminated in violent apoplexy, and +died in three days, after disinheriting the Cantervilles, +who were her nearest relations, and leaving +all her money to her London apothecary. At the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +last moment, however, his terror of the twins prevented +his leaving his room, and the little Duke +slept in peace under the great feathered canopy in +the Royal Bedchamber, and dreamed of Virginia.</p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>A few days after this, Virginia and her curly-haired +cavalier went out riding on Brockley meadows, +where she tore her habit so badly in getting +through a hedge that, on their return home, she +made up her mind to go up by the back staircase +so as not to be seen. As she was running past the +Tapestry Chamber, the door of which happened to +be open, she fancied she saw someone inside, and +thinking it was her mother's maid, who sometimes +used to bring her work there, looked in to ask her +to mend her habit. To her immense surprise, +however, it was the Canterville ghost himself! +He was sitting by the window, watching the ruined +gold of the yellowing trees fly through the air, and +the red leaves dancing madly down the long avenue. +His head was leaning on his hand, and his whole +attitude was one of extreme depression. Indeed, +so forlorn, and so much out of repair did he look, +that little Virginia, whose first idea had been to +run away and lock herself in her room, was filled +with pity, and determined to try and comfort him. +So light was her footfall, and so deep his melancholy, +that he was not aware of her presence till +she spoke to him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I am so sorry for you,” she said, “but my +brothers are going back to Eton to-morrow, and +then, if you behave yourself, no one will annoy +you.”</p> + +<p>“It is absurd asking me to behave myself,” he +answered, looking round in astonishment at the +pretty little girl who had ventured to address him, +“quite absurd. I must rattle my chains, and groan +through keyholes, and walk about at night, if that +is what you mean. It is my only reason for existing.”</p> + +<p>“It is no reason at all for existing, and you know +you have been very wicked. Mrs. Umney told us, +the first day we arrived here, that you had killed +your wife.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I quite admit it,” said the ghost, petulantly, +“but it was a purely family matter and +concerned no one else.”</p> + +<p>“It is very wrong to kill anyone,” said Virginia, +who at times had a sweet puritan gravity, caught +from some old New England ancestor.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I hate the cheap severity of abstract ethics! +My wife was very plain, never had my ruffs +properly starched, and knew nothing about cookery. +Why, there was a buck I had shot in Hogley +Woods, a magnificent pricket, and do you know +how she had it sent to table? However, it is no +matter now, for it is all over, and I don't think it +was very nice of her brothers to starve me to death, +though I did kill her.”</p> + +<p>“Starve you to death? Oh, Mr. Ghost—I mean<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +Sir Simon, are you hungry? I have a sandwich in +my case. Would you like it?”</p> + +<p>“No, thank you, I never eat anything now; but +it is very kind of you, all the same, and you are +much nicer than the rest of your horrid, rude, +vulgar, dishonest family.”</p> + +<p>“Stop!” cried Virginia, stamping her foot, “it +is you who are rude, and horrid, and vulgar, and as +for dishonesty, you know you stole the paints out +of my box to try and furbish up that ridiculous +blood-stain in the library. First you took all my +reds, including the vermilion, and I couldn't do any +more sunsets, then you took the emerald-green +and the chrome-yellow, and finally I had nothing +left but indigo and Chinese white, and could only +do moonlight scenes, which are always depressing +to look at, and not at all easy to paint. I never +told on you, though I was very much annoyed, and +it was most ridiculous, the whole thing; for who +ever heard of emerald-green blood?”</p> + +<p>“Well, really,” said the Ghost, rather meekly, +“what was I to do? It is a very difficult thing to +get real blood nowadays, and, as your brother +began it all with his Paragon Detergent, I certainly +saw no reason why I should not have your paints. +As for color, that is always a matter of taste: the +Cantervilles have blue blood, for instance, the very +bluest in England; but I know you Americans don't +care for things of this kind.”</p> + +<p>“You know nothing about it, and the best thing +you can do is to emigrate and improve your mind.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +My father will be only too happy to give you a free +passage, and though there is a heavy duty on +spirits of every kind, there will be no difficulty +about the Custom House, as the officers are all +Democrats. Once in New York, you are sure to +be a great success. I know lots of people there who +would give a hundred thousand dollars to have a +grandfather, and much more than that to have a +family ghost.”</p> + +<p>“I don't think I should like America.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose because we have no ruins and no +curiosities,” said Virginia, satirically.</p> + +<p>“No ruins! no curiosities!” answered the Ghost; +“you have your navy and your manners.”</p> + +<p>“Good evening; I will go and ask papa to get the +twins an extra week's holiday.”</p> + +<p>“Please don't go, Miss Virginia,” he cried; “I am +so lonely and so unhappy, and I really don't know +what to do. I want to go to sleep and I cannot.”</p> + +<p>“That's quite absurd! You have merely to go +to bed and blow out the candle. It is very difficult +sometimes to keep awake, especially at church, but +there is no difficulty at all about sleeping. Why, +even babies know how to do that, and they are not +very clever.”</p> + +<p>“I have not slept for three hundred years,” he +said sadly, and Virginia's beautiful blue eyes +opened in wonder; “for three hundred years I have +not slept, and I am so tired.”</p> + +<p>Virginia grew quite grave, and her little lips +trembled like rose-leaves. She came towards him,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +and kneeling down at his side, looked up into his +old withered face.</p> + +<p>“Poor, poor ghost,” she murmured; “have you +no place where you can sleep?”</p> + +<p>“Far away beyond the pinewoods,” he answered, +in a low, dreamy voice, “there is a little garden. +There the grass grows long and deep, there are the +great white stars of the hemlock flower, there the +nightingale sings all night long. All night long he +sings, and the cold crystal moon looks down, and +the yew-tree spreads out its giant arms over the +sleepers.”</p> + +<p>Virginia's eyes grew dim with tears, and she hid +her face in her hands.</p> + +<p>“You mean the Garden of Death,” she +whispered.</p> + +<p>“Yes, death. Death must be so beautiful. To +lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving +above one's head, and listen to silence. To have +no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, +to forget life, to be at peace. You can help me. +You can open for me the portals of death's house, +for love is always with you, and love is stronger +than death is.”</p> + +<p>Virginia trembled, a cold shudder ran through +her, and for a few moments there was silence. She +felt as if she was in a terrible dream.</p> + +<p>Then the ghost spoke again, and his voice +sounded like the sighing of the wind.</p> + +<p>“Have you ever read the old prophecy on the +library window?”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh, often,” cried the little girl, looking up; +“I know it quite well. It is painted in curious +black letters, and is difficult to read. There are +only six lines:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><b>“'When a golden girl can win</b><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><b>Prayer from out the lips of sin,</b><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><b>When the barren almond bears,</b><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><b>And a little child gives away its tears,</b><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><b>Then shall all the house be still</b><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><b>And peace come to Canterville.'</b><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="noindent">“But I don't know what they mean.”</p> + +<p>“They mean,” he said, sadly, “that you must +weep with me for my sins, because I have no tears, +and pray with me for my soul, because I have no +faith, and then, if you have always been sweet, +and good, and gentle, the angel of death will have +mercy on me. You will see fearful shapes in darkness, +and wicked voices will whisper in your ear, +but they will not harm you, for against the purity +of a little child the powers of Hell cannot prevail.”</p> + +<p>Virginia made no answer, and the ghost wrung +his hands in wild despair as he looked down at her +bowed golden head. Suddenly she stood up, very +pale, and with a strange light in her eyes. “I am +not afraid,” she said firmly, “and I will ask the +angel to have mercy on you.”</p> + +<p>He rose from his seat with a faint cry of joy, and +taking her hand bent over it with old-fashioned +grace and kissed it. His fingers were as cold as ice, +and his lips burned like fire, but Virginia did not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +falter, as he led her across the dusky room. On the +faded green tapestry were broidered little huntsmen. +They blew their tasseled horns and with +their tiny hands waved to her to go back. “Go +back! little Virginia,” they cried, “go back!” but +the ghost clutched her hand more tightly, and she +shut her eyes against them. Horrible animals with +lizard tails and goggle eyes blinked at her from the +carven chimney-piece, and murmured, “Beware! +little Virginia, beware! we may never see you +again,” but the ghost glided on more swiftly, and +Virginia did not listen. When they reached the +end of the room he stopped, and muttered some +words she could not understand. She opened her +eyes, and saw the wall slowly fading away like a +mist, and a great black cavern in front of her. A +bitter cold wind swept round them, and she felt +something pulling at her dress. “Quick, quick,” +cried the ghost, “or it will be too late,” and in a +moment the wainscoting had closed behind them, +and the Tapestry Chamber was empty.</p> + + +<h3>VI</h3> + +<p>About ten minutes later, the bell rang for tea, +and, as Virginia did not come down, Mrs. Otis +sent up one of the footmen to tell her. After a little +time he returned and said that he could not find +Miss Virginia anywhere. As she was in the habit +of going out to the garden every evening to get<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +flowers for the dinner-table, Mrs. Otis was not at +all alarmed at first, but when six o'clock struck, +and Virginia did not appear, she became really +agitated, and sent the boys out to look for her, +while she herself and Mr. Otis searched every room +in the house. At half-past six the boys came back +and said that they could find no trace of their sister +anywhere. They were all now in the greatest state +of excitement, and did not know what to do, when +Mr. Otis suddenly remembered that, some few +days before, he had given a band of gipsies permission +to camp in the park. He accordingly at +once set off for Blackfell Hollow, where he knew +they were, accompanied by his eldest son and two +of the farm-servants. The little Duke of Cheshire, +who was perfectly frantic with anxiety, begged +hard to be allowed to go too, but Mr. Otis would +not allow him, as he was afraid there might be a +scuffle. On arriving at the spot, however, he found +that the gipsies had gone, and it was evident that +their departure had been rather sudden, as the fire +was still burning, and some plates were lying on +the grass. Having sent off Washington and the +two men to scour the district, he ran home, and +dispatched telegrams to all the police inspectors +in the county, telling them to look out for a little +girl who had been kidnapped by tramps or gipsies. +He then ordered his horse to be brought round, and +after insisting on his wife and the three boys sitting +down to dinner, rode off down the Ascot road with +a groom. He had hardly, however, gone a couple<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +of miles, when he heard somebody galloping after +him, and, looking round, saw the little Duke +coming up on his pony, with his face very flushed, +and no hat. “I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Otis,” gasped +out the boy, “but I can't eat any dinner as long as +Virginia is lost. Please don't be angry with me; +if you had let us be engaged last year, there would +never have been all this trouble. You won't send +me back, will you? I can't go! I won't go!”</p> + +<p>The Minister could not help smiling at the handsome +young scapegrace, and was a good deal +touched at his devotion to Virginia, so leaning +down from his horse, he patted him kindly on the +shoulders, and said, “Well, Cecil, if you won't go +back, I suppose you must come with me, but I must +get you a hat at Ascot.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, bother my hat! I want Virginia!” cried +the little Duke, laughing, and they galloped on to +the railway station. There Mr. Otis inquired of the +station-master if anyone answering to the description +of Virginia had been seen on the platform, +but could get no news of her. The station-master, +however, wired up and down the line, and assured +him that a strict watch would be kept for her, and, +after having bought a hat for the little Duke from +a linen-draper, who was just putting up his shutters, +Mr. Otis rode off to Bexley, a village about four +miles away, which he was told was a well-known +haunt of the gipsies, as there was a large common +next to it. Here they roused up the rural policeman, +but could get no information from him, and,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +after riding all over the common, they turned their +horses' heads homewards, and reached the Chase +about eleven o'clock, dead-tired and almost heart-broken. +They found Washington and the twins +waiting for them at the gate-house with lanterns, +as the avenue was very dark. Not the slightest +trace of Virginia had been discovered. The gipsies +had been caught on Brockley meadows, but she +was not with them, and they had explained their +sudden departure by saying that they had mistaken +the date of Chorton Fair, and had gone off +in a hurry for fear they should be late. Indeed, +they had been quite distressed at hearing of Virginia's +disappearance, as they were very grateful +to Mr. Otis for having allowed them to camp in his +park, and four of their number had stayed behind +to help in the search. The carp-pond had been +dragged, and the whole Chase thoroughly gone +over, but without any result. It was evident that, +for that night at any rate, Virginia was lost to +them; and it was in a state of the deepest depression +that Mr. Otis and the boys walked up to the +house, the groom following behind with the two +horses and the pony. In the hall they found a +group of frightened servants, and lying on a sofa +in the library was poor Mrs. Otis, almost out of her +mind with terror and anxiety, and having her forehead +bathed with eau de cologne by the old housekeeper. +Mr. Otis at once insisted on her having +something to eat, and ordered up supper for the +whole party. It was a melancholy meal, as hardly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +anyone spoke, and even the twins were awestruck +and subdued, as they were very fond of their sister. +When they had finished, Mr. Otis, in spite of the +entreaties of the little Duke, ordered them all to +bed, saying that nothing more could be done that +night, and that he would telegraph in the morning +to Scotland Yard for some detectives to be sent +down immediately. Just as they were passing out +of the dining-room, midnight began to boom from +the clock tower, and when the last stroke sounded +they heard a crash and a sudden shrill cry; a dreadful +peal of thunder shook the house, a strain of +unearthly music floated through the air, a panel +at the top of the staircase flew back with a loud +noise, and out on the landing, looking very pale +and white, with a little casket in her hand, stepped +Virginia. In a moment they had all rushed up to +her. Mrs. Otis clasped her passionately in her +arms, the Duke smothered her with violent kisses, +and the twins executed a wild war-dance round +the group.</p> + +<p>“Good heavens! child, where have you been?” +said Mr. Otis, rather angrily, thinking that she had +been playing some foolish trick on them. “Cecil +and I have been riding all over the country looking +for you, and your mother has been frightened to +death. You must never play these practical jokes +any more.”</p> + +<p>“Except on the ghost! except on the ghost!” +shrieked the twins, as they capered about.</p> + +<p>“My own darling, thank God you are found;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +you must never leave my side again,” murmured +Mrs. Otis, as she kissed the trembling child, and +smoothed the tangled gold of her hair.</p> + +<p>“Papa,” said Virginia, quietly, “I have been +with the ghost. He is dead, and you must come +and see him. He had been very wicked, but he +was really sorry for all that he had done, and +he gave me this box of beautiful jewels before he +died.”</p> + +<p>The whole family gazed at her in mute amazement, +but she was quite grave and serious; and, +turning round, she led them through the opening +in the wainscoting down a narrow secret corridor, +Washington following with a lighted candle, which +he had caught up from the table. Finally, they +came to a great oak door, studded with rusty nails. +When Virginia touched it, it swung back on its +heavy hinges, and they found themselves in a little +low room, with a vaulted ceiling, and one tiny +grated window. Embedded in the wall was a huge +iron ring, and chained to it was a gaunt skeleton, +that was stretched out at full length on the stone +floor, and seemed to be trying to grasp with its +long fleshless fingers an old-fashioned trencher and +ewer, that were placed just out of its reach. The +jug had evidently been once filled with water, as +it was covered inside with green mold. There was +nothing on the trencher but a pile of dust. Virginia +knelt down beside the skeleton, and, folding +her little hands together, began to pray silently, +while the rest of the party looked on in wonder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +at the terrible tragedy whose secret was now disclosed +to them.</p> + +<p>“Hallo!” suddenly exclaimed one of the twins, +who had been looking out of the window to try +and discover in what wing of the house the room +was situated. “Hallo! the old withered almond-tree +has blossomed. I can see the flowers quite +plainly in the moonlight.”</p> + +<p>“God has forgiven him,” said Virginia, gravely, +as she rose to her feet, and a beautiful light seemed +to illumine her face.</p> + +<p>“What an angel you are!” cried the young Duke, +and he put his arm round her neck, and kissed her.</p> + + +<h3>VII</h3> + +<p>Four days after these curious incidents, a funeral +started from Canterville Chase at about +eleven o'clock at night. The hearse was drawn by +eight black horses, each of which carried on its +head a great tuft of nodding ostrich-plumes, and +the leaden coffin was covered by a rich purple pall, +on which was embroidered in gold the Canterville +coat-of-arms. By the side of the hearse and the +coaches walked the servants with lighted torches, +and the whole procession was wonderfully impressive. +Lord Canterville was the chief mourner, +having come up specially from Wales to attend the +funeral, and sat in the first carriage along with little +Virginia. Then came the United States Minister<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +and his wife, then Washington and the three boys, +and in the last carriage was Mrs. Umney. It was +generally felt that, as she had been frightened by +the ghost for more than fifty years of her life, she +had a right to see the last of him. A deep grave +had been dug in the corner of the churchyard, just +under the old yew-tree, and the service was read in +the most impressive manner by the Rev. Augustus +Dampier. When the ceremony was over, the servants, +according to an old custom observed in the +Canterville family, extinguished their torches, and, +as the coffin was being lowered into the grave, Virginia +stepped forward, and laid on it a large cross +made of white and pink almond-blossoms. As she +did so, the moon came out from behind a cloud, +and flooded with its silent silver the little churchyard, +and from a distant copse a nightingale began +to sing. She thought of the ghost's description of +the Garden of Death, her eyes became dim with +tears, and she hardly spoke a word during the drive +home.</p> + +<p>The next morning, before Lord Canterville went +up to town, Mr. Otis had an interview with him +on the subject of the jewels the ghost had given +to Virginia. They were perfectly magnificent, especially +a certain ruby necklace with old Venetian +setting, which was really a superb specimen of sixteenth-century +work, and their value was so great +that Mr. Otis felt considerable scruples about +allowing his daughter to accept them.</p> + +<p>“My lord,” he said, “I know that in this country<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +mortmain is held to apply to trinkets as well as to +land, and it is quite clear to me that these jewels +are, or should be, heirlooms in your family. I must +beg you, accordingly, to take them to London with +you, and to regard them simply as a portion of your +property which has been restored to you under +certain strange conditions. As for my daughter, +she is merely a child, and has as yet, I am glad to +say, but little interest in such appurtenances of +idle luxury. I am also informed by Mrs. Otis, who, +I may say, is no mean authority upon Art,—having +had the privilege of spending several winters in +Boston when she was a girl,—that these gems are +of great monetary worth, and if offered for sale +would fetch a tall price. Under these circumstances, +Lord Canterville, I feel sure that you will +recognize how impossible it would be for me to +allow them to remain in the possession of any member +of my family; and, indeed, all such vain gauds +and toys, however suitable or necessary to the +dignity of the British aristocracy, would be completely +out of place among those who have been +brought up on the severe, and I believe immortal, +principles of Republican simplicity. Perhaps I +should mention that Virginia is very anxious that +you should allow her to retain the box, as a memento +of your unfortunate but misguided ancestor. +As it is extremely old, and consequently a good +deal out of repair, you may perhaps think fit to +comply with her request. For my own part, I +confess I am a good deal surprised to find a child of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +mine expressing sympathy with medievalism in +any form, and can only account for it by the fact +that Virginia was born in one of your London suburbs +shortly after Mrs. Otis had returned from a +trip to Athens.”</p> + +<p>Lord Canterville listened very gravely to the +worthy Minister's speech, pulling his gray moustache +now and then to hide an involuntary smile, +and when Mr. Otis had ended, he shook him cordially +by the hand, and said: “My dear sir, your +charming little daughter rendered my unlucky +ancestor, Sir Simon, a very important service, and +I and my family are much indebted to her for her +marvelous courage and pluck. The jewels are +clearly hers, and, egad, I believe that if I were +heartless enough to take them from her, the wicked +old fellow would be out of his grave in a fortnight, +leading me the devil of a life. As for their being +heirlooms, nothing is an heirloom that is not so +mentioned in a will or legal document, and the +existence of these jewels has been quite unknown. +I assure you I have no more claim on them than +your butler, and when Miss Virginia grows up, I +dare say she will be pleased to have pretty things to +wear. Besides, you forget, Mr. Otis, that you took +the furniture and the ghost at a valuation, and +anything that belonged to the ghost passed at once +into your possession, as, whatever activity Sir +Simon may have shown in the corridor at night, in +point of law he was really dead, and you acquired +his property by purchase.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>Mr. Otis was a good deal distressed at Lord +Canterville's refusal, and begged him to reconsider +his decision, but the good-natured peer was quite +firm, and finally induced the Minister to allow his +daughter to retain the present the ghost had given +her, and when, in the spring of 1890, the young +Duchess of Cheshire was presented at the Queen's +first drawing-room on the occasion of her marriage +her jewels were the universal theme of admiration. +For Virginia received the coronet, which is the reward +of all good little American girls, and was +married to her boy-lover as soon as he came of age. +They were both so charming, and they loved each +other so much, that everyone was delighted at the +match, except the old Marchioness of Dumbleton, +who had tried to catch the Duke for one of her +seven unmarried daughters, and had given no less +than three expensive dinner-parties for that purpose, +and, strange to say, Mr. Otis himself. Mr. +Otis was extremely fond of the young Duke personally, +but, theoretically, he objected to titles, +and, to use his own words, “was not without apprehension +lest, amid the enervating influences of a +pleasure-loving aristocracy, the true principles +of Republican simplicity should be forgotten.” +His objections, however, were completely over-ruled, +and I believe that when he walked up the +aisle of St. George's, Hanover Square, with his +daughter leaning on his arm, there was not a +prouder man in the whole length and breadth of +England.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>The Duke and Duchess, after the honeymoon +was over, went down to Canterville Chase, and on +the day after their arrival they walked over in the +afternoon to the lonely churchyard by the pinewoods. +There had been a great deal of difficulty +at first about the inscription on Sir Simon's tombstone, +but finally it had been decided to engrave +on it simply the initials of the old gentleman's +name, and the verse from the library window. +The Duchess had brought with her some lovely +roses, which she strewed upon the grave, and after +they had stood by it for some time they strolled +into the ruined chancel of the old abbey. There +the Duchess sat down on a fallen pillar, while her +husband lay at her feet smoking a cigarette and +looking up at her beautiful eyes. Suddenly he +threw his cigarette away, took hold of her hand, +and said to her, “Virginia, a wife should have no +secrets from her husband.”</p> + +<p>“Dear Cecil! I have no secrets from you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you have,” he answered, smiling, “you +have never told me what happened to you when +you were locked up with the ghost.”</p> + +<p>“I have never told anyone, Cecil,” said Virginia, +gravely.</p> + +<p>“I know that, but you might tell me.”</p> + +<p>“Please don't ask me, Cecil, I cannot tell you. +Poor Sir Simon! I owe him a great deal. Yes, +don't laugh, Cecil, I really do. He made me see +what Life is, and what Death signifies, and why +Love is stronger than both.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Duke rose and kissed his wife lovingly.</p> + +<p>“You can have your secret as long as I have your +heart,” he murmured.</p> + +<p>“You have always had that, Cecil.”</p> + +<p>“And you will tell our children some day, won't +you?”</p> + +<p>Virginia blushed.</p> +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="THE_GHOST-EXTINGUISHER" id="THE_GHOST-EXTINGUISHER"></a>THE GHOST-EXTINGUISHER</h3> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> GELETT BURGESS</h4> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>From the <i>Cosmopolitan Magazine</i>, April, 1905. By permission +of John Brisben Walker and Gelett Burgess.</p></div> + + + + +<h2>The Ghost-Extinguisher</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> +<h4>BY GELETT BURGESS</h4> + + +<p>My attention was first called to the possibility +of manufacturing a practicable ghost-extinguisher +by a real-estate agent in San Francisco.</p> + +<p>“There's one thing,” he said, “that affects city +property here in a curious way. You know we +have a good many murders, and, as a consequence, +certain houses attain a very sensational and undesirable +reputation. These houses it is almost +impossible to let; you can scarcely get a decent +family to occupy them rent-free. Then we have a +great many places said to be haunted. These were +dead timber on my hands until I happened to +notice that the Japanese have no objections to +spooks. Now, whenever I have such a building to +rent, I let it to Japs at a nominal figure, and after +they've taken the curse off, I raise the rent, the +Japs move out, the place is renovated, and in the +market again.”</p> + +<p>The subject interested me, for I am not only a +scientist, but a speculative philosopher as well. +The investigation of those phenomena that lie +upon the threshold of the great unknown has +always been my favorite field of research. I believed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +even then, that the Oriental mind, working +along different lines than those which we pursue, +has attained knowledge that we know little of. +Thinking, therefore, that these Japs might have +some secret inherited from their misty past, I +examined into the matter.</p> + +<p>I shall not trouble you with a narration of the +incidents which led up to my acquaintance with +Hoku Yamanochi. Suffice it to say that I found +in him a friend who was willing to share with me +his whole lore of quasi-science. I call it this advisedly, +for science, as we Occidentals use the term, +has to do only with the laws of matter and sensation; +our scientific men, in fact, recognize the +existence of nothing else. The Buddhistic philosophy, +however, goes further.</p> + +<p>According to its theories, the soul is sevenfold, +consisting of different shells or envelopes—something +like an onion—which are shed as life passes +from the material to the spiritual state. The first, +or lowest, of these is the corporeal body, which, +after death, decays and perishes. Next comes the +vital principle, which, departing from the body, +dissipates itself like an odor, and is lost. Less +gross than this is the astral body, which, although +immaterial, yet lies near to the consistency of +matter. This astral shape, released from the body +at death, remains for a while in its earthly environment, +still preserving more or less definitely the +imprint of the form which it inhabited.</p> + +<p>It is this relic of a past material personality, this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +outworn shell, that appears, when galvanized into +an appearance of life, partly materialized, as a +ghost. It is not the soul that returns, for the soul, +which is immortal, is composed of the four higher +spiritual essences that surround the ego, and are +carried on into the next life. These astral bodies, +therefore, fail to terrify the Buddhists, who know +them only as shadows, with no real volition. The +Japs, in point of fact, have learned how to exterminate +them.</p> + +<p>There is a certain powder, Hoku informed me, +which, when burnt in their presence, transforms +them from the rarefied, or semi-spiritual, condition +to the state of matter. The ghost, so to speak, +is precipitated into and becomes a material shape +which can easily be disposed of. In this state it is +confined and allowed to disintegrate slowly where +it can cause no further annoyance.</p> + +<p>This long-winded explanation piqued my curiosity, +which was not to be satisfied until I had +seen the Japanese method applied. It was not +long before I had an opportunity. A particularly +revolting murder having been committed in San +Francisco, my friend Hoku Yamanochi applied for +the house, and, after the police had finished their +examination, he was permitted to occupy it for a +half-year at the ridiculous price of three dollars a +month. He invited me to share his quarters, which +were large and luxuriously furnished.</p> + +<p>For a week, nothing abnormal occurred. Then, +one night, I was awakened by terrifying groans<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +followed by a blood-curdling shriek which seemed +to emerge from a large closet in my room, the scene +of the late atrocity. I confess that I had all the +covers pulled over my head and was shivering with +horror when my Japanese friend entered, wearing +a pair of flowered-silk pajamas. Hearing his voice, +I peeped forth, to see him smiling reassuringly.</p> + +<p>“You some kind of very foolish fellow,” he said. +“I show you how to fix him!”</p> + +<p>He took from his pocket three conical red pastils, +placed them upon a saucer and lighted them. +Then, holding the fuming dish in one outstretched +hand, he walked to the closed door and opened it. +The shrieks burst out afresh, and, as I recalled the +appalling details of the scene which had occurred +in this very room only five weeks ago, I shuddered +at his temerity. But he was quite calm.</p> + +<p>Soon, I saw the wraith-like form of the recent +victim dart from the closet. She crawled under +my bed and ran about the room, endeavoring to +escape, but was pursued by Hoku, who waved his +smoking plate with indefatigable patience and +dexterity.</p> + +<p>At last he had her cornered, and the specter was +caught behind a curtain of odorous fumes. Slowly +the figure grew more distinct, assuming the consistency +of a heavy vapor, shrinking somewhat in +the operation. Hoku now hurriedly turned to me.</p> + +<p>“You hully up, bling me one pair bellows pletty +quick!” he commanded.</p> + +<p>I ran into his room and brought the bellows<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +from his fireplace. These he pressed flat, and then +carefully inserting one toe of the ghost into the +nozzle and opening the handles steadily, he sucked +in a portion of the unfortunate woman's anatomy, +and dexterously squirted the vapor into a large jar, +which had been placed in the room for the purpose. +Two more operations were necessary to withdraw +the phantom completely from the corner and empty +it into the jar. At last the transfer was effected and +the receptacle securely stoppered and sealed.</p> + +<p>“In formeryore-time,” Hoku explained to me, +“old pliests sucked ghost with mouth and spit him +to inside of vase with acculacy. Modern-time +method more better for stomach and epiglottis.”</p> + +<p>“How long will this ghost keep?” I inquired.</p> + +<p>“Oh, about four, five hundled years, maybe,” +was his reply. “Ghost now change from spilit to +matter, and comes under legality of matter as +usual science.”</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do with her?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Send him to Buddhist temple in Japan. Old +pliest use him for high celemony,” was the answer.</p> + +<p>My next desire was to obtain some of Hoku +Yamanochi's ghost-powder and analyze it. For +a while it defied my attempts, but, after many +months of patient research, I discovered that it +could be produced, in all its essential qualities, by +means of a fusion of formaldehyde and hypophenyltrybrompropionic +acid in an electrified vacuum. +With this product I began a series of interesting +experiments.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> + +<p>As it became necessary for me to discover the +habitat of ghosts in considerable numbers, I joined +the American Society for Psychical Research, thus +securing desirable information in regard to haunted +houses. These I visited persistently, until my +powder was perfected and had been proved efficacious +for the capture of any ordinary house-broken +phantom. For a while I contented myself +with the mere sterilization of these specters, but, +as I became surer of success, I began to attempt the +transfer of ghosts to receptacles wherein they could +be transported and studied at my leisure, classified +and preserved for future reference.</p> + +<p>Hoku's bellows I soon discarded in favor of a +large-sized bicycle-pump, and eventually I had +constructed one of my own, of a pattern which enabled +me to inhale an entire ghost at a single stroke. +With this powerful instrument I was able to compress +even an adult life-sized ghost into a two-quart +bottle, in the neck of which a sensitive valve +(patented) prevented the specter from emerging +during process.</p> + +<p>My invention was not yet, however, quite satisfactory. +While I had no trouble in securing ghosts +of recent creation—spirits, that is, who were yet of +almost the consistency of matter—on several of +my trips abroad in search of material I found in +old manor houses or ruined castles many specters +so ancient that they had become highly rarefied +and tenuous, being at times scarcely visible to the +naked eye. Such elusive spirits are able to pass<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +through walls and elude pursuit with ease. It +became necessary for me to obtain some instrument +by which their capture could be conveniently +effected.</p> + +<p>The ordinary fire-extinguisher of commerce gave +me the hint as to how the problem could be solved. +One of these portable hand-instruments I filled +with the proper chemicals. When inverted, the +ingredients were commingled in vacuo and a vast +volume of gas was liberated. This was collected +in the reservoir provided with a rubber tube having +a nozzle at the end. The whole apparatus being +strapped upon my back, I was enabled to direct a +stream of powerful precipitating gas in any desired +direction, the flow being under control through the +agency of a small stopcock. By means of this +ghost-extinguisher I was enabled to pursue my +experiments as far as I desired.</p> + +<p>So far my investigations had been purely scientific, +but before long the commercial value of my discovery +began to interest me. The ruinous effects +of spectral visitations upon real estate induced me +to realize some pecuniary reward from my ghost-extinguisher, +and I began to advertise my business. +By degrees, I became known as an expert in my +original line, and my professional services were +sought with as much confidence as those of a veterinary +surgeon. I manufactured the Gerrish Ghost-Extinguisher +in several sizes, and put it on the +market, following this venture with the introduction +of my justly celebrated Gerrish Ghost-Grenades.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +These hand-implements were made to be +kept in racks conveniently distributed in country +houses for cases of sudden emergency. A single +grenade, hurled at any spectral form, would, in +breaking, liberate enough formaldybrom to coagulate +the most perverse spirit, and the resulting +vapor could easily be removed from the room by a +housemaid with a common broom.</p> + +<p>This branch of my business, however, never +proved profitable, for the appearance of ghosts, +especially in the United States, is seldom anticipated. +Had it been possible for me to invent a preventive +as well as a remedy, I might now be a +millionaire; but there are limits even to modern +science.</p> + +<p>Having exhausted the field at home, I visited +England in the hope of securing customers among +the country families there. To my surprise, I discovered +that the possession of a family specter was +considered as a permanent improvement to the +property, and my offers of service in ridding houses +of ghostly tenants awakened the liveliest resentment. +As a layer of ghosts I was much lower in +the social scale than a layer of carpets.</p> + +<p>Disappointed and discouraged, I returned home +to make a further study of the opportunities of my +invention. I had, it seemed, exhausted the possibilities +of the use of unwelcome phantoms. Could I +not, I thought, derive a revenue from the traffic +in desirable specters? I decided to renew my +investigations.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> + +<p>The nebulous spirits preserved in my laboratory, +which I had graded and classified, were, you will +remember, in a state of suspended animation. +They were, virtually, embalmed apparitions, their +inevitable decay delayed, rather than prevented. +The assorted ghosts that I had now preserved in +hermetically sealed tins were thus in a state of unstable +equilibrium. The tins once opened and the +vapor allowed to dissipate, the original astral body +would in time be reconstructed and the warmed-over +specter would continue its previous career. +But this process, when naturally performed, took +years. The interval was quite too long for the +phantom to be handled in any commercial way. My +problem was, therefore, to produce from my tinned +Essence of Ghost a specter that was capable of +immediately going into business and that could +haunt a house while you wait.</p> + +<p>It was not until radium was discovered that I +approached the solution of my great problem, and +even then months of indefatigable labor were +necessary before the process was perfected. It has +now been well demonstrated that the emanations +of radiant energy sent forth by this surprising +element defy our former scientific conceptions of +the constitution of matter. It was for me to prove +that the vibratory activity of radium (whose +amplitudes and intensity are undoubtedly four-dimensional) +effects a sort of allotropic modification +in the particles of that imponderable ether +which seems to lie halfway between matter and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +pure spirit. This is as far as I need to go in my +explanation, for a full discussion involves the use of +quaternions and the method of least squares. It +will be sufficient for the layman to know that my +preserved phantoms, rendered radio-active, would, +upon contact with the air, resume their spectral +shape.</p> + +<p>The possible extension of my business now was +enormous, limited only by the difficulty in collecting +the necessary stock. It was by this time almost +as difficult to get ghosts as it was to get radium. +Finding that a part of my stock had spoiled, I was +now possessed of only a few dozen cans of apparitions, +many of these being of inferior quality. I +immediately set about replenishing my raw material. +It was not enough for me to pick up a ghost +here and there, as one might get old mahogany; I +determined to procure my phantoms in wholesale +lots.</p> + +<p>Accident favored my design. In an old volume +of <i>Blackwood's Magazine</i> I happened, one day, to +come across an interesting article upon the battle +of Waterloo. It mentioned, incidentally, a legend +to the effect that every year, upon the anniversary +of the celebrated victory, spectral squadrons had +been seen by the peasants charging battalions of +ghostly grenadiers. Here was my opportunity.</p> + +<p>I made elaborate preparations for the capture of +this job lot of phantoms upon the next anniversary +of the fight. Hard by the fatal ditch which engulfed +Napoleon's cavalry I stationed a corps of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +able assistants provided with rapid-fire extinguishers +ready to enfilade the famous sunken road. +I stationed myself with a No. 4 model magazine-hose, +with a four-inch nozzle, directly in the path +which I knew would be taken by the advancing +squadron.</p> + +<p>It was a fine, clear night, lighted, at first, by a +slice of new moon; but later, dark, except for the +pale illumination of the stars. I have seen many +ghosts in my time—ghosts in garden and garret, +at noon, at dusk, at dawn, phantoms fanciful, and +specters sad and spectacular—but never have I +seen such an impressive sight as this nocturnal +charge of cuirassiers, galloping in goblin glory to +their time-honored doom. From afar the French +reserves presented the appearance of a nebulous +mass, like a low-lying cloud or fog-bank, faintly +luminous, shot with fluorescent gleams. As the +squadron drew nearer in its desperate charge, the +separate forms of the troopers shaped themselves, +and the galloping guardsmen grew ghastly with +supernatural splendor.</p> + +<p>Although I knew them to be immaterial and +without mass or weight, I was terrified at their +approach, fearing to be swept under the hoofs of +the nightmares they rode. Like one in a dream, I +started to run, but in another instant they were +upon me, and I turned on my stream of formaldybrom. +Then I was overwhelmed in a cloud-burst +of wild warlike wraiths.</p> + +<p>The column swept past me, over the bank,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +plunging to its historic fate. The cut was piled +full of frenzied, scrambling specters, as rank after +rank swept down into the horrid gut. At last the +ditch swarmed full of writhing forms and the carnage +was dire.</p> + +<p>My assistants with the extinguishers stood firm, +and although almost unnerved by the sight, they +summoned their courage, and directed simultaneous +streams of formaldybrom into the struggling +mass of fantoms. As soon as my mind returned, I +busied myself with the huge tanks I had prepared +for use as receivers. These were fitted with a +mechanism similar to that employed in portable +forges, by which the heavy vapor was sucked off. +Luckily the night was calm, and I was enabled to +fill a dozen cylinders with the precipitated ghosts. +The segregation of individual forms was, of course, +impossible, so that men and horses were mingled +in a horrible mixture of fricasseed spirits. I intended +subsequently to empty the soup into a +large reservoir and allow the separate specters to +reform according to the laws of spiritual cohesion.</p> + +<p>Circumstances, however, prevented my ever +accomplishing this result. I returned home, to +find awaiting me an order so large and important +that I had no time in which to operate upon my +cylinders of cavalry.</p> + +<p>My patron was the proprietor of a new sanatorium +for nervous invalids, located near some medicinal +springs in the Catskills. His building was +unfortunately located, having been built upon the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +site of a once-famous summer hotel, which, while +filled with guests, had burnt to the ground, scores +of lives having been lost. Just before the patients +were to be installed in the new structure, it was +found that the place was haunted by the victims +of the conflagration to a degree that rendered it +inconvenient as a health resort. My professional +services were requested, therefore, to render the +building a fitting abode for convalescents. I wrote +to the proprietor, fixing my charge at five thousand +dollars. As my usual rate was one hundred dollars +per ghost, and over a hundred lives were lost at the +fire, I considered this price reasonable, and my offer +was accepted.</p> + +<p>The sanatorium job was finished in a week. I +secured one hundred and two superior spectral +specimens, and upon my return to the laboratory, +put them up in heavily embossed tins with attractive +labels in colors.</p> + +<p>My delight at the outcome of this business was, +however, soon transformed to anger and indignation. +The proprietor of the health resort, having +found that the specters from his place had been +sold, claimed a rebate upon the contract price +equal to the value of the modified ghosts transferred +to my possession. This, of course, I could +not allow. I wrote, demanding immediate payment +according to our agreement, and this was +peremptorily refused. The manager's letter was +insulting in the extreme. The Pied Piper of Hamelin +was not worse treated than I felt myself to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +be; so, like the piper, I determined to have my +revenge.</p> + +<p>I got out the twelve tanks of Waterloo ghost-hash +from the storerooms, and treated them with +radium for two days. These I shipped to the Catskills +billed as hydrogen gas. Then, accompanied +by two trustworthy assistants, I went to the sanatorium +and preferred my demand for payment in +person. I was ejected with contumely. Before my +hasty exit, however, I had the satisfaction of noticing +that the building was filled with patients. +Languid ladies were seated in wicker chairs upon +the piazzas, and frail anemic girls filled the corridors. +It was a hospital of nervous wrecks whom +the slightest disturbance would throw into a panic. +I suppressed all my finer feelings of mercy and +kindness and smiled grimly as I walked back to the +village.</p> + +<p>That night was black and lowering, fitting +weather for the pandemonium I was about to turn +loose. At ten o'clock, I loaded a wagon with the +tanks of compressed cohorts, and, muffled in heavy +overcoats, we drove to the sanatorium. All was +silent as we approached; all was dark. The wagon +concealed in a grove of pines, we took out the tanks +one by one, and placed them beneath the ground-floor +windows. The sashes were easily forced open, +and raised enough to enable us to insert the rubber +tubes connected with the iron reservoirs. At midnight +everything was ready.</p> + +<p>I gave the word, and my assistants ran from tank<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +to tank, opening the stopcocks. With a hiss as of +escaping steam the huge vessels emptied themselves, +vomiting forth clouds of vapor, which, upon +contact with the air, coagulated into strange shapes +as the white of an egg does when dropped into boiling +water. The rooms became instantly filled with +dismembered shades of men and horses seeking +wildly to unite themselves with their proper parts.</p> + +<p>Legs ran down the corridors, seeking their respective +trunks, arms writhed wildly reaching for +missing bodies, heads rolled hither and yon in +search of native necks. Horses' tails and hoofs +whisked and hurried in quest of equine ownership +until, reorganized, the spectral steeds galloped +about to find their riders.</p> + +<p>Had it been possible, I would have stopped this +riot of wraiths long ere this, for it was more awful +than I had anticipated, but it was already too late. +Cowering in the garden, I began to hear the +screams of awakened and distracted patients. In +another moment, the front door of the hotel was +burst open, and a mob of hysterical women in expensive +nightgowns rushed out upon the lawn, and +huddled in shrieking groups.</p> + +<p>I fled into the night.</p> + +<p>I fled, but Napoleon's men fled with me. Compelled +by I know not what fatal astral attraction, +perhaps the subtle affinity of the creature for the +creator, the spectral shells, moved by some mysterious +mechanics of spiritual being, pursued me with +fatuous fury. I sought refuge, first, in my laboratory,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +but, even as I approached, a lurid glare foretold +me of its destruction. As I drew nearer, the +whole ghost-factory was seen to be in flames; every +moment crackling reports were heard, as the over-heated +tins of phantasmagoria exploded and threw +their supernatural contents upon the night. These +liberated ghosts joined the army of Napoleon's +outraged warriors, and turned upon me. There +was not enough formaldybrom in all the world to +quench their fierce energy. There was no place in +all the world safe for me from their visitation. No +ghost-extinguisher was powerful enough to lay +the host of spirits that haunted me henceforth, +and I had neither time nor money left with which +to construct new Gatling quick-firing tanks.</p> + +<p>It is little comfort to me to know that one hundred +nervous invalids were completely restored to +health by means of the terrific shock which I +administered.</p> +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="DEY_AINT_NO_GHOSTS" id="DEY_AINT_NO_GHOSTS"></a>“DEY AIN'T NO GHOSTS”</h3> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> ELLIS PARKER BUTLER</h4> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>From the <i>Century Magazine</i>, November, 1911. By permission +of the Century Company and Ellis Parker Butler.</p></div> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>“Dey Ain't No Ghosts”</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> ELLIS PARKER BUTLER</h4> + + +<p>Once 'pon a time dey was a li'l' black boy whut +he name was Mose. An' whin he come erlong to be +'bout knee-high to a mewel, he 'gin to git powerful +'fraid ob ghosts, 'ca'se dat am sure a mighty +ghostly location whut he lib' in, 'ca'se dey 's a +grabeyard in de hollow, an' a buryin'-ground on de +hill, an' a cemuntary in betwixt an' between, an' +dey ain't nuffin' but trees nowhar excipt in de +clearin' by de shanty an' down de hollow whar de +pumpkin-patch am.</p> + +<p>An' whin de night come erlong, dey ain't no +sounds <i>at</i> all whut kin be heard in dat locality but +de rain-doves, whut mourn out, “Oo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!” +jes dat trembulous <i>an'</i> scary, an' de owls, whut +mourn out, “Whut-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!” more trembulous +an' scary dan dat, an' de wind, whut mourn out, +“You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!” mos' scandalous' trembulous +an' scary ob all. Dat a powerful onpleasant locality +for a li'l' black boy whut he name was Mose.</p> + +<p>'Ca'se dat li'l' black boy he so specially black he +can't be seen in de dark <i>at</i> all 'cept by de whites ob +he eyes. So whin he go' outen de house <i>at</i> night, +he ain't dast shut he eyes, 'ca'se den ain't nobody<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +can see him in de least. He jes as invidsible as +nuffin'. An' who know' but whut a great, big +ghost bump right into him 'ca'se it can't see him? +An' dat shore w'u'd scare dat li'l' black boy powerful' +bad, 'ca'se yever'body knows whut a cold, +damp pussonality a ghost is.</p> + +<p>So whin dat li'l' black Mose go' outen de shanty +at night, he keep' he eyes wide open, you may be +shore. By day he eyes 'bout de size ob butter-pats, +an' come sundown he eyes 'bout de size ob saucers; +but whin he go' outen de shanty at night, he eyes +am de size ob de white chiny plate whut set on de +mantel; an' it powerful' hard to keep eyes whut +am de size ob dat from a-winkin' an' a-blinkin'.</p> + +<p>So whin Hallowe'en come' erlong, dat li'l' black +Mose he jes mek' up he mind he ain't gwine outen +he shack <i>at</i> all. He cogitate he gwine stay right +snug in de shack wid he pa an' he ma, 'ca'se de +rain-doves tek notice dat de ghosts are philanderin' +roun' de country, 'ca'se dey mourn out, “Oo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!” +an' de owls dey mourn out, “Whut-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!” +an' de wind mourn out, “You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!” +De eyes ob dat li'l' black Mose dey as big as de +white chiny plate whut set on de mantel by side de +clock, an' de sun jes a-settin'.</p> + +<p>So dat all right. Li'l' black Mose he scrooge' +back in de corner by de fireplace, an' he 'low' he +gwine stay dere till he gwine <i>to</i> bed. But byme-by +Sally Ann, whut live' up de road, draps in, an' Mistah +Sally Ann, whut is her husban', he draps in, an' +Zack Badget an' de school-teacher whut board' at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +Unc' Silas Diggs's house drap in, an' a powerful +lot ob folks drap in. An' li'l' black Mose he seen +dat gwine be one s'prise-party, an' he right down +cheerful 'bout dat.</p> + +<p>So all dem folks shake dere hands an' 'low +“Howdy,” an' some ob dem say: “Why, dere's li'l' +Mose! Howdy, li'l' Mose?” An' he so please' he +jes grin' an' grin', 'ca'se he ain't reckon whut gwine +happen. So byme-by Sally Ann, whut live up de +road, she say', “Ain't no sort o' Hallowe'en lest we +got a jack-o'-lantern.” An' de school-teacher, +whut board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, she 'low', +“Hallowe'en jes no Hallowe'en <i>at</i> all 'thout we got +a jack-o'-lantern.” An' li'l' black Mose he stop' +a-grinnin', an' he scrooge' so far back in de corner +he 'mos' scrooge frough de wall. But dat ain't no +use, 'ca'se he ma say', “Mose, go on down to de +pumpkin-patch an' fotch a pumpkin.”</p> + +<p>“I ain't want to go,” say' li'l' black Mose.</p> + +<p>“Go on erlong wid yo',” say' he ma, right +commandin'.</p> + +<p>“I ain't want to go,” say' Mose ag'in.</p> + +<p>“Why ain't yo' want to go?” he ma ask'.</p> + +<p>“'Ca'se I's afraid ob de ghosts,” say' li'l' black +Mose, an' dat de particular truth an' no mistake.</p> + +<p>“Dey ain't no ghosts,” say' de school-teacher, +whut board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, right peart.</p> + +<p>“'Co'se dey ain't no ghosts,” say' Zack Badget, +whut dat 'fear'd ob ghosts he ain't dar' come to +li'l' black Mose's house ef de school-teacher ain't +ercompany him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Go 'long wid your ghosts!” say li'l' black +Mose's ma.</p> + +<p>“Wha' yo' pick up dat nomsense?” say' he pa. +“Dey ain't no ghosts.”</p> + +<p>An' dat whut all dat s'prise-party 'low: dey +ain't no ghosts. An' dey 'low dey mus' hab a jack-o'-lantern +or de fun all sp'iled. So dat li'l' black +boy whut he name is Mose he done got to fotch a +pumpkin from de pumpkin-patch down de hollow. +So he step'outen de shanty an' he stan' on de doorstep +twell he get' he eyes pried open as big as de +bottom ob he ma's wash-tub, mostly, an' he say', +“Dey ain't no ghosts.” An' he put' one foot on de +ground, an' dat was de fust step.</p> + +<p>An' de rain-dove say', “OO-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!”</p> + +<p>An' li'l' black Mose he tuck anudder step.</p> + +<p>An' de owl mourn' out, “Whut-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!”</p> + +<p>An' li'l' black Mose he tuck anudder step.</p> + +<p>An' de wind sob' out, “You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!”</p> + +<p>An' li'l' black Mose he tuck one look ober he +shoulder, an' he shut he eyes so tight dey hurt +round de aidges, an' he pick' up he foots an' run. +Yas, sah, he run' right peart fast. An' he say': +“Dey ain't no ghosts. Dey ain't no ghosts.” An' +he run' erlong de paff whut lead' by de buryin'-ground +on de hill, 'ca'se dey ain't no fince eround +dat buryin'-ground <i>at</i> all.</p> + +<p>No fince; jes' de big trees whut de owls an' de +rain-doves sot in an' mourn an' sob, an' whut de +wind sigh an' cry frough. An byme-by somefin' +jes' <i>brush</i>' li'l' Mose on de arm, which mek' him run +jes a bit more faster. An' byme-by somefin' jes +brush' li'l' Mose on de cheek, which mek' him run<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +erbout as fast as he can. An' byme-by somefin' +grab' li'l' Mose by de aidge of he coat, an' he fight' +an' struggle' an' cry out: “Dey ain't no ghosts. +Dey ain't no ghosts.” An' dat ain't nuffin' but de +wild brier whut grab' him, an' dat ain't nuffin' but +de leaf ob a tree whut brush' he cheek, an' dat +ain't nuffin' but de branch ob a hazel-bush whut +brush' he arm. But he downright scared jes de +same, an' he ain't lose no time, 'ca'se de wind an' de +owls an' de rain-doves dey signerfy whut ain't no +good. So he scoot' past dat buryin'-ground whut +on de hill, an' dat cemuntary whut betwixt an' between, +an' dat grabeyard in de hollow, twell he +come' to de pumpkin-patch, an' he rotch' down +an' tek' erhold ob de bestest pumpkin whut in +de patch. An' he right smart scared. He jes' +de mostest scared li'l' black boy whut yever +was. He ain't gwine open he eyes fo' nuffin', +'ca'se de wind go, “You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!” an' de owls +go, “Whut-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!” an' de rain-doves go, +“Oo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!”</p> + +<p>He jes speculate', “Dey ain't no ghosts,” an' +wish' he hair don't stand on ind dat way. An' he +jes cogitate', “Dey ain't no ghosts,” an' wish' he +goose-pimples don't rise up dat way. An' he jes +'low', “Dey ain't no ghosts,” an' wish' he backbone +ain't all trembulous wid chills dat way. So he +rotch' down, an' he rotch' down, twell he git' a good +hold on dat pricklesome stem of dat bestest pumpkin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +whut in de patch, an' he jes yank' dat stem wid +all he might.</p> + +<p>“<i>Let loosen my head!</i>” say' a big voice all on a +suddent.</p> + +<p>Dat li'l' black boy whut he name is Mose he +jump' 'most outen he skin. He open' he eyes, an' +he 'gin to shake like de aspen-tree, 'ca'se whut dat +a-standin' right dar behint him but a 'mendjous +big ghost! Yas, sah, dat de bigges', whites' ghost +whut yever was. An' it ain't got no head. Ain't +got no head <i>at</i> all! Li'l' black Mose he jes drap' +on he knees an' he beg' an' pray':</p> + +<p>“Oh, 'scuse me! 'Scuse me, Mistah Ghost!” +he beg'. “Ah ain't mean no harm <i>at</i> all.”</p> + +<p>“Whut for you try to take my head?” ask' de +ghost in dat fearsome voice whut like de damp wind +outen de cellar.</p> + +<p>“'Scuse me! 'Scuse me!” beg' li'l' Mose. “Ah +ain't know dat was yo' head, an' I ain't know you +was dar <i>at</i> all. 'Scuse me!”</p> + +<p>“Ah 'scuse you ef you do me dis favor,” say' de +ghost. “Ah got somefin' powerful <i>im</i>portant to +say unto you, an' Ah can't say hit 'ca'se Ah ain't +got no head; an' whin Ah ain't got no head, Ah +ain't got no mouf, an' whin Ah ain't got no mouf, +Ah can't talk <i>at</i> all.”</p> + +<p>An' dat right logical fo' shore. Can't nobody +talk whin he ain't got no mouf, an' can't nobody +have no mouf whin he ain't got no head, an' whin +li'l' black Mose he look', he see' dat ghost ain't got +no head <i>at</i> all. Nary head.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> + +<p>So de ghost say':</p> + +<p>“Ah come on down yere fo' to git a pumpkin fo' +a head, an' Ah pick' dat <i>ixact</i> pumpkin whut yo' +gwine tek, an' Ah don't like dat one bit. No, sah. +Ah feel like Ah pick yo' up an' carry yo' away, an' +nobody see you no more for yever. But Ah got +somefin' powerful <i>im</i>portant to say unto yo', an' +if yo' pick up dat pumpkin an' sot it on de place +whar my head ought to be, Ah let you off dis time, +'ca'se Ah ain't been able to talk fo' so long Ah right +hongry to say somefin'.”</p> + +<p>So li'l' black Mose he heft up dat pumpkin, an' +de ghost he bend' down, an' li'l' black Mose he sot +dat pumpkin on dat ghostses neck. An' right off +dat pumpkin head 'gin' to wink an' blink like a +jack-o'-lantern, an' right off dat pumpkin head +'gin' to glimmer an' glow frough de mouf like a +jack-o'-lantern, an' right off dat ghost start' to +speak. Yas, sah, dass so.</p> + +<p>“Whut yo' want to say unto me?” <i>in</i>quire' li'l' +black Mose.</p> + +<p>“Ah want to tell yo',” say' de ghost, “dat yo' +ain't need yever be skeered of ghosts, 'ca'se dey +ain't no ghosts.”</p> + +<p>An' whin he say dat, de ghost jes vanish' away +like de smoke in July. He ain't even linger round +dat locality like de smoke in Yoctober. He jes +dissipate' outen de air, an' he gone <i>in</i>tirely.</p> + +<p>So li'l' Mose he grab' up de nex' bestest pumpkin +an' he scoot'. An' whin he come' to de grabeyard +in de hollow, he goin' erlong same as yever,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +on'y faster, whin he reckon' he'll pick up a club <i>in</i> +case he gwine have trouble. An' he rotch' down +an' rotch' down an' tek' hold of a likely appearin' +hunk o' wood whut right dar. An' whin he grab' +dat hunk of wood——</p> + +<p>“<i>Let loosen my leg!</i>” say' a big voice all on a +suddent.</p> + +<p>Dat li'l' black boy 'most jump' outen he skin, +'ca'se right dar in de paff is six 'mendjus big ghostes +an' de bigges' ain't got but one leg. So li'l' black +Mose jes natchully handed dat hunk of wood to +dat bigges' ghost, an' he say':</p> + +<p>“'Scuse me, Mistah Ghost; Ah ain't know dis +your leg.”</p> + +<p>An' whut dem six ghostes do but stand round an' +confabulate? Yas, sah, dass so. An' whin dey do +so, one say':</p> + +<p>“'Pears like dis a mighty likely li'l' black boy. +Whut we gwine do fo' to <i>re</i>ward him fo' politeness?”</p> + +<p>An' annuder say':</p> + +<p>“Tell him whut de truth is 'bout ghostes.”</p> + +<p>So de bigges' ghost he say':</p> + +<p>“Ah gwine tell yo' somefin' <i>im</i>portant whut +yever'body don't know: Dey <i>ain't</i> no ghosts.”</p> + +<p>An' whin he say' dat, de ghostes jes natchully +vanish away, an' li'l' black Mose he proceed' up +de paff. He so scared he hair jes yank' at de roots, +an' whin de wind go', “Oo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!” an' de owl +go', “Whut-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!” an' de rain-doves go, +“You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o-!” he jes tremble' an' shake'. An'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +byme-by he come' to de cemuntary whut betwixt +an' between, an' he shore is mighty skeered, 'ca'se +dey is a whole comp'ny of ghostes lined up along +de road, an' he 'low' he ain't gwine spind no more +time palaverin' wid ghostes. So he step' offen de +road fo' to go round erbout, an' he step' on a pine-stump +whut lay right dar.</p> + +<p>“<i>Git offen my chest!</i>” say' a big voice all on a +suddent, 'ca'se dat stump am been selected by de +captain ob de ghostes for to be he chest, 'ca'se he +ain't got no chest betwixt he shoulders an' he legs. +An' li'l' black Mose he hop' offen dat stump right +peart. Yes, <i>sah</i>; right peart.</p> + +<p>“'Scuse me! 'Scuse me!” dat li'l' black Mose +beg' an' plead', an' de ghostes ain't know whuther +to eat him all up or not, 'ca'se he step on de boss +ghostes's chest dat a-way. But byme-by they 'low +they let him go 'ca'se dat was an accident, an' de +captain ghost he say', “Mose, you Mose, Ah gwine +let you off dis time, 'ca'se you ain't nuffin' but a +misabul li'l' tremblin' nigger; but Ah want you +should <i>re</i>mimimber one thing mos' particular'.”</p> + +<p>“Ya-yas, sah,” say' dat li'l' black boy; “Ah'll +remimber. Whut is dat Ah got to remimber?”</p> + +<p>De captain ghost he swell' up, an' he swell' up, +twell he as big as a house, an' he say' in a voice +whut shake' de ground:</p> + +<p>“Dey ain't no ghosts.”</p> + +<p>So li'l' black Mose he bound to remimber dat, +an' he rise' up an' mek' a bow, an' he proceed' toward +home right libely. He do, indeed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> + +<p>An' he gwine along jes as fast as he kin, whin he +come' to de aidge ob de buryin'-ground whut on de +hill, an' right dar he bound to stop, 'ca'se de kentry +round about am so populate' he ain't able to go +frough. Yas, sah, seem' like all de ghostes in de +world habin' a conferince right dar. Seem' like all +de ghosteses whut yever was am havin' a convintion +on dat spot. An' dat li'l' black Mose so +skeered he jes fall' down on a' old log whut dar an' +screech' an' moan'. An' all on a suddent de log +up and spoke:</p> + +<p>“<i>Get offen me! Get offen me!</i>” yell' dat log.</p> + +<p>So li'l' black Mose he git' offen dat log, an' no +mistake.</p> + +<p>An' soon as he git' offen de log, de log uprise, an' +li'l' black Mose he see' dat dat log am de king ob +all de ghostes. An' whin de king uprise, all de congergation +crowd round li'l' black Mose, an' dey +am about leben millium an' a few lift over. Yas, +sah; dat de reg'lar annyul Hallowe'en convintion +whut li'l' black Mose interrup'. Right dar am all +de sperits in de world, an' all de ha'nts in de world, +an' all de hobgoblins in de world, an' all de ghouls +in de world, an' all de spicters in de world, an' all de +ghostes in de world. An' whin dey see li'l' black +Mose, dey all gnash dey teef an' grin' 'ca'se it +gettin' erlong toward dey-all's lunch-time. So de +king, whut he name old Skull-an'-Bones, he step' +on top ob li'l' Mose's head, an' he say':</p> + +<p>“Gin'l'min, de convintion will come to order. +De sicretary please note who is prisint. De firs'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +business whut come' before de convintion am: whut +we gwine do to a li'l' black boy whut stip' on de +king an' maul' all ober de king an' treat' de king +dat disrespictful'.”</p> + +<p>An li'l' black Mose jes moan' an' sob':</p> + +<p>“'Scuse me! 'Scuse me, Mistah King! Ah ain't +mean no harm <i>at</i> all.”</p> + +<p>But nobody ain't pay no <i>at</i>tintion to him <i>at</i> all, +'ca'se yevery one lookin' at a monstrous big ha'nt +whut name Bloody Bones, whut rose up an' +spoke.</p> + +<p>“Your Honor, Mistah King, an' gin'l'min <i>an</i>' +ladies,” he say', “dis am a right bad case ob <i>lasy +majesty</i>, 'ca'se de king been step on. Whin yivery +li'l' black boy whut choose' gwine wander round <i>at</i> +night an' stip on de king ob ghostes, it ain't no +time for to palaver, it ain't no time for to prevaricate, +it ain't no time for to cogitate, it ain't no time +do nuffin' but tell de truth, an' de whole truth, an' +nuffin' but de truth.”</p> + +<p>An' all dem ghostes sicond de motion, an' dey +confabulate out loud erbout dat, an' de noise soun' +like de rain-doves goin', “Oo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!” an' de +owls goin', “Whut-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!” an' de wind goin', +“You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!” So dat risolution am passed +unanermous, an' no mistake.</p> + +<p>So de king ob de ghostes, whut name old Skull-an'-Bones, +he place' he hand on de head ob li'l' +black Mose, an' he hand feel like a wet rag, an' he +say':</p> + +<p>“Dey ain't no ghosts.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> + +<p>An' one ob de hairs whut on de head of li'l' black +Mose turn' white.</p> + +<p>An' de monstrous big ha'nt whut he name +Bloody Bones he lay he hand on de head ob li'l' +black Mose, an' he hand feel like a toadstool in de +cool ob de day, an' he say':</p> + +<p>“Dey ain't no ghosts.”</p> + +<p>An' anudder ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l' +black Mose turn' white.</p> + +<p>An' a heejus sperit whut he name Moldy Pa'm +place' he hand on de head ob li'l' black Mose, an' +he hand feel like de yunner side ob a lizard, an' he +say':</p> + +<p>“Dey ain't no ghosts.”</p> + +<p>An' anudder ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l' +black Mose turn white <i>as</i> snow.</p> + +<p>An' a perticklar bend-up hobgoblin he put' he +hand on de head ob li'l' black Mose, an' he mek' +dat same <i>re</i>mark, an' dat whole convintion ob +ghostes an' spicters an' ha'nts an' yiver'thing, +which am more 'n a millium, pass by so quick dey-all's +hands feel lak de wind whut blow outen de +cellar whin de day am hot, an' dey-all say, “Dey +ain't no ghosts.” Yas, sah, dey-all say dem wo'ds +so fas' it soun' like de wind whin it moan frough de +turkentine-trees whut behind de cider-priss. An' +yivery hair whut on li'l' black Mose's head turn' +white. Dat whut happen' whin a li'l' black boy +gwine meet a ghost convintion dat-a-way. Dat's +so he ain' gwine forgit to remimber dey ain't no +ghostes. 'Ca'se ef a li'l' black boy gwine imaginate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +dey <i>is</i> ghostes, he gwine be skeered in de dark. An' +dat a foolish thing for to imaginate.</p> + +<p>So prisintly all de ghostes am whiff away, like +de fog outen de holler whin de wind blow' on it, an' +li'l' black Mose he ain' see no ca'se for to remain in +dat locality no longer. He rotch' down, an' he +raise' up de pumpkin, an' he perambulate' right +quick to he ma's shack, an' he lift' up de latch, an' +he open' de do', an' he yenter' in. An' he say':</p> + +<p>“Yere's de pumpkin.”</p> + +<p>An' he ma an' he pa, an' Sally Ann, whut live +up de road, an' Mistah Sally Ann, whut her husban', +an' Zack Badget, an' de school-teacher whut +board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, an' all de powerful +lot of folks whut come to de doin's, dey all +scrooged back in de cornder ob de shack, 'ca'se +Zack Badget he been done tell a ghost-tale, an' de +rain-doves gwine, “Oo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!” an' de owls am +gwine, “Whut-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!” and de wind it gwine, +“You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!” an' yiver'body powerful skeered. +'Ca'se li'l' black Mose he come' a-fumblin' an' a-rattlin' +at de do' jes whin dat ghost-tale mos' +skeery, an' yiver'body gwine imaginate dat he a +ghost a-fumblin' an' a-rattlin' at de do'. Yas, sah. +So li'l' black Mose he turn' he white head, an' he +look' roun' an' peer' roun', an' he say':</p> + +<p>“Whut you all skeered fo'?”</p> + +<p>'Ca'se ef anybody skeered, he want' to be skeered +too. Dat's natural. But de school-teacher, whut +live at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, she say':</p> + +<p>“Fo' de lan's sake, we fought you was a ghost!”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> + +<p>So li'l' black Mose he sort ob sniff an' he sort ob +sneer, an' he 'low':</p> + +<p>“Huh! dey ain't no ghosts.”</p> + +<p>Den he ma she powerful took back dat li'l' black +Mose he gwine be so uppetish an' contrydict folks +whut know 'rifmeticks an' algebricks an' gin'ral +countin' widout fingers, like de school-teacher whut +board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house knows, an' she +say':</p> + +<p>“Huh! whut you know 'bout ghosts, anner +ways?”</p> + +<p>An' li'l' black Mose he jes kinder stan' on one +foot, an' he jes kinder suck' he thumb, an' he jes +kinder 'low':</p> + +<p>“I don't know nuffin' erbout ghosts, 'ca'se dey +ain't no ghosts.”</p> + +<p>So he pa gwine whop him fo' tellin' a fib 'bout +dey ain' no ghosts whin yiver'body know' dey is +ghosts; but de school-teacher, whut board at Unc' +Silas Diggs's house, she tek' note de hair ob li'l' +black Mose's head am plumb white, an' she tek' +note li'l' black Mose's face am de color ob wood-ash, +so she jes retch' one arm round dat li'l' black +boy, an' she jes snuggle' him up, an' she say':</p> + +<p>“Honey lamb, don't you be skeered; ain' nobody +gwine hurt you. How you know dey ain't no +ghosts?”</p> + +<p>An' li'l' black Mose he kinder lean' up 'g'inst de +school-teacher whut board at Unc' Silas Diggs's +house, an' he 'low':</p> + +<p>“'Ca'se—'ca'se—'ca'se I met de cap'n ghost, an'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +I met de gin'ral ghost, an' I met de king ghost, an' +I met all de ghostes whut yiver was in de whole +worl', an' yivery ghost say' de same thing: 'Dey +ain't no ghosts.' An' if de cap'n ghost an' de +gin'ral ghost an' de king ghost an' all de ghostes in +de whole worl' don't know ef dar am ghostes, who +does?”</p> + +<p>“Das right; das right, honey lamb,” say' de +school-teacher. And she say': “I been s'picious +dey ain' no ghostes dis long whiles, an' now I know. +Ef all de ghostes say dey ain' no ghosts, dey <i>ain'</i> +no ghosts.”</p> + +<p>So yiver'body 'low' dat so 'cep' Zack Badget, +whut been tellin' de ghost-tale, an' he ain' gwine +say “Yis” an' he ain' gwine say “No,” 'ca'se he +right sweet on de school-teacher; but he know +right well he done seen plinty ghostes in he day. +So he boun' to be sure fust. So he say' to li'l' black +Mose:</p> + +<p>“'T ain't likely you met up wid a monstrous big +ha'nt whut live' down de lane whut he name +Bloody Bones?”</p> + +<p>“Yas,” say' li'l' black Mose; “I done met up +wid him.”</p> + +<p>“An' did old Bloody Bones done tol' you dey +ain' no ghosts?” say Zack Badget.</p> + +<p>“Yas,” say' li'l' black Mose, “he done tell me +perzackly dat.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if <i>he</i> tol' you dey ain't no ghosts,” say' +Zack Badget, “I got to 'low dey ain't no ghosts, +'ca'se he ain' gwine tell no lie erbout it. I know dat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> +Bloody Bones ghost sence I was a piccaninny, an' +I done met up wif him a powerful lot o' times, an' +he ain't gwine tell no lie erbout it. Ef dat perticklar +ghost say' dey ain't no ghosts, dey <i>ain't</i> no +ghosts.”</p> + +<p>So yiver'body say':</p> + +<p>“Das right; dey ain' no ghosts.”</p> + +<p>An' dat mek' li'l' black Mose feel mighty good, +'ca'se he ain' lak ghostes. He reckon' he gwine be +a heap mo' comfortable in he mind sence he know' +dey ain' no ghosts, an' he reckon' he ain' gwine be +skeered of nuffin' never no more. He ain' gwine +min' de dark, an' he ain' gwine min' de rain-doves +whut go', “Oo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!” an' he ain' gwine min' de +owls whut go', “Who-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!” an' he ain' +gwine min' de wind whut go', “You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!” +nor nuffin', nohow. He gwine be brave as a lion, +sence he know' fo' sure dey ain' no ghosts. So +prisintly he ma say':</p> + +<p>“Well, time fo' a li'l' black boy whut he name is +Mose to be gwine up de ladder to de loft to bed.”</p> + +<p>An' li'l' black Mose he 'low' he gwine wait a bit. +He 'low' he gwine jes wait a li'l' bit. He 'low' he +gwine be no trouble <i>at</i> all ef he jes been let wait +twell he ma she gwine up de ladder to de loft to +bed, too. So he ma she say':</p> + +<p>“Git erlong wid yo'! Whut yo' skeered ob whin +dey ain't no ghosts?”</p> + +<p>An' li'l' black Mose he scrooge', and he twist', +an' he pucker' up de mouf, an' he rub' he eyes, an' +prisintly he say' right low:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I ain' skeered ob ghosts whut am, 'ca'se dey +ain' no ghosts.”</p> + +<p>“Den whut <i>am</i> yo' skeered ob?” ask he ma.</p> + +<p>“Nuffin,” say' de li'l' black boy whut he name +is Mose; “but I jes feel kinder oneasy 'bout de +ghosts whut ain't.”</p> + +<p>Jes lak white folks! Jes lak white folks!</p> +<br /><br /> + + + + +<h3><a name="THE_TRANSFERRED_GHOST" id="THE_TRANSFERRED_GHOST"></a>THE TRANSFERRED GHOST</h3> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86"></a></span></p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> FRANK R. STOCKTON</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>From <i>The Lady or the Tiger? and Other Stories.</i> Copyright, +1884, by Charles Scribner's Sons. By permission of the publishers.</p></div> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> + +<h2>The Transferred Ghost</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> FRANK R. STOCKTON</h4> + + +<p>The country residence of Mr. John Hinckman +was a delightful place to me, for many reasons. It +was the abode of a genial, though somewhat impulsive, +hospitality. It had broad, smooth-shaven +lawns and towering oaks and elms; there were +bosky shades at several points, and not far from +the house there was a little rill spanned by a rustic +bridge with the bark on; there were fruits and +flowers, pleasant people, chess, billiards, rides, +walks, and fishing. These were great attractions; +but none of them, nor all of them together, would +have been sufficient to hold me to the place very +long. I had been invited for the trout season, but +should, probably, have finished my visit early in +the summer had it not been that upon fair days, +when the grass was dry, and the sun was not too +hot, and there was but little wind, there strolled +beneath the lofty elms, or passed lightly through +the bosky shades, the form of my Madeline.</p> + +<p>This lady was not, in very truth, my Madeline. +She had never given herself to me, nor had I, in +any way, acquired possession of her. But as I +considered her possession the only sufficient reason<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +for the continuance of my existence, I called her, +in my reveries, mine. It may have been that I +would not have been obliged to confine the use of +this possessive pronoun to my reveries had I confessed +the state of my feelings to the lady.</p> + +<p>But this was an unusually difficult thing to do. +Not only did I dread, as almost all lovers dread, +taking the step which would in an instant put an +end to that delightful season which may be termed +the ante-interrogatory period of love, and which +might at the same time terminate all intercourse +or connection with the object of my passion; but +I was, also, dreadfully afraid of John Hinckman. +This gentleman was a good friend of mine, but it +would have required a bolder man than I was at +that time to ask him for the gift of his niece, who +was the head of his household, and, according to +his own frequent statement, the main prop of his +declining years. Had Madeline acquiesced in my +general views on the subject, I might have felt +encouraged to open the matter to Mr. Hinckman; +but, as I said before, I had never asked her whether +or not she would be mine. I thought of these +things at all hours of the day and night, particularly +the latter.</p> + +<p>I was lying awake one night, in the great bed in +my spacious chamber, when, by the dim light of the +new moon, which partially filled the room, I saw +John Hinckman standing by a large chair near the +door. I was very much surprised at this for two +reasons. In the first place, my host had never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +before come into my room; and, in the second +place, he had gone from home that morning, and +had not expected to return for several days. It +was for this reason that I had been able that evening +to sit much later than usual with Madeline on +the moonlit porch. The figure was certainly that +of John Hinckman in his ordinary dress, but there +was a vagueness and indistinctness about it which +presently assured me that it was a ghost. Had the +good old man been murdered? and had his spirit +come to tell me of the deed, and to confide to me +the protection of his dear—? My heart fluttered +at what I was about to think, but at this instant +the figure spoke.</p> + +<p>“Do you know,” he said, with a countenance +that indicated anxiety, “if Mr. Hinckman will return +to-night?”</p> + +<p>I thought it well to maintain a calm exterior, and +I answered:</p> + +<p>“We do not expect him.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad of that,” said he, sinking into the +chair by which he stood. “During the two years +and a half that I have inhabited this house, +that man has never before been away for a +single night. You can't imagine the relief it gives +me.”</p> + +<p>And as he spoke he stretched out his legs, and +leaned back in the chair. His form became less +vague, and the colors of his garments more distinct +and evident, while an expression of gratified relief +succeeded to the anxiety of his countenance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Two years and a half!” I exclaimed. “I don't +understand you.”</p> + +<p>“It is fully that length of time,” said the ghost, +“since I first came here. Mine is not an ordinary +case. But before I say anything more about it, +let me ask you again if you are sure Mr. Hinckman +will not return to-night.”</p> + +<p>“I am as sure of it as I can be of anything,” I +answered. “He left to-day for Bristol, two hundred +miles away.”</p> + +<p>“Then I will go on,” said the ghost, “for I am +glad to have the opportunity of talking to someone +who will listen to me; but if John Hinckman +should come in and catch me here, I should be +frightened out of my wits.”</p> + +<p>“This is all very strange,” I said, greatly puzzled +by what I had heard. “Are you the ghost of Mr. +Hinckman?”</p> + +<p>This was a bold question, but my mind was so +full of other emotions that there seemed to be no +room for that of fear.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am his ghost,” my companion replied, +“and yet I have no right to be. And this is what +makes me so uneasy, and so much afraid of him. +It is a strange story, and, I truly believe, without +precedent. Two years and a half ago, John Hinckman +was dangerously ill in this very room. At +one time he was so far gone that he was really +believed to be dead. It was in consequence of too +precipitate a report in regard to this matter that +I was, at that time, appointed to be his ghost.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +Imagine my surprise and horror, sir, when, after +I had accepted the position and assumed its responsibilities, +that old man revived, became convalescent, +and eventually regained his usual health. +My situation was now one of extreme delicacy and +embarrassment. I had no power to return to my +original unembodiment, and I had no right to be +the ghost of a man who was not dead. I was advised +by my friends to quietly maintain my position, +and was assured that, as John Hinckman was +an elderly man, it could not be long before I could +rightfully assume the position for which I had +been selected. But I tell you, sir,” he continued, +with animation, “the old fellow seems as vigorous +as ever, and I have no idea how much longer this +annoying state of things will continue. I spend +my time trying to get out of that old man's way. +I must not leave this house, and he seems to follow +me everywhere. I tell you, sir, he haunts me.”</p> + +<p>“That is truly a queer state of things,” I remarked. +“But why are you afraid of him? He +couldn't hurt you.”</p> + +<p>“Of course he couldn't,” said the ghost. “But +his very presence is a shock and terror to me. +Imagine, sir, how you would feel if my case were +yours.”</p> + +<p>I could not imagine such a thing at all. I simply +shuddered.</p> + +<p>“And if one must be a wrongful ghost at all,” the +apparition continued, “it would be much pleasanter +to be the ghost of some man other than John<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +Hinckman. There is in him an irascibility of +temper, accompanied by a facility of invective, +which is seldom met with. And what would +happen if he were to see me, and find out, as I am +sure he would, how long and why I had inhabited +his house, I can scarcely conceive. I have seen +him in his bursts of passion; and, although he did +not hurt the people he stormed at any more than +he would hurt me, they seemed to shrink before +him.”</p> + +<p>All this I knew to be very true. Had it not been +for this peculiarity of Mr. Hinckman, I might have +been more willing to talk to him about his niece.</p> + +<p>“I feel sorry for you,” I said, for I really began +to have a sympathetic feeling toward this unfortunate +apparition. “Your case is indeed a hard +one. It reminds me of those persons who have had +doubles, and I suppose a man would often be very +angry indeed when he found that there was another +being who was personating himself.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! the cases are not similar at all,” said the +ghost. “A double or <i>doppelgänger</i> lives on the +earth with a man; and, being exactly like him, he +makes all sorts of trouble, of course. It is very +different with me. I am not here to live with Mr. +Hinckman. I am here to take his place. Now, it +would make John Hinckman very angry if he knew +that. Don't you know it would?”</p> + +<p>I assented promptly.</p> + +<p>“Now that he is away I can be easy for a little +while,” continued the ghost; “and I am so glad to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +have an opportunity of talking to you. I have +frequently come into your room, and watched you +while you slept, but did not dare to speak to you +for fear that if you talked with me Mr. Hinckman +would hear you, and come into the room to know +why you were talking to yourself.”</p> + +<p>“But would he not hear you?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no!” said the other: “there are times when +anyone may see me, but no one hears me except +the person to whom I address myself.”</p> + +<p>“But why did you wish to speak to me?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Because,” replied the ghost, “I like occasionally +to talk to people, and especially to someone +like yourself, whose mind is so troubled and perturbed +that you are not likely to be frightened by +a visit from one of us. But I particularly wanted +to ask you to do me a favor. There is every probability, +so far as I can see, that John Hinckman +will live a long time, and my situation is becoming +insupportable. My great object at present is to +get myself transferred, and I think that you may, +perhaps, be of use to me.”</p> + +<p>“Transferred!” I exclaimed. “What do you +mean by that?”</p> + +<p>“What I mean,” said the other, “is this: Now +that I have started on my career I have got to be +the ghost of somebody, and I want to be the ghost +of a man who is really dead.”</p> + +<p>“I should think that would be easy enough,” I +said. “Opportunities must continually occur.”</p> + +<p>“Not at all! not at all!” said my companion<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +quickly. “You have no idea what a rush and +pressure there is for situations of this kind. Whenever +a vacancy occurs, if I may express myself in +that way, there are crowds of applications for the +ghost-ship.”</p> + +<p>“I had no idea that such a state of things +existed,” I said, becoming quite interested in the +matter. “There ought to be some regular system, +or order of precedence, by which you could all take +your turns like customers in a barber's shop.”</p> + +<p>“Oh dear, that would never do at all!” said the +other. “Some of us would have to wait forever. +There is always a great rush whenever a good +ghost-ship offers itself—while, as you know, there +are some positions that no one would care for. +And it was in consequence of my being in too great +a hurry on an occasion of the kind that I got myself +into my present disagreeable predicament, and +I have thought that it might be possible that you +would help me out of it. You might know of a case +where an opportunity for a ghost-ship was not +generally expected, but which might present itself +at any moment. If you would give me a short +notice, I know I could arrange for a transfer.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” I exclaimed. “Do you +want me to commit suicide? Or to undertake a +murder for your benefit?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, no, no!” said the other, with a vapory +smile. “I mean nothing of that kind. To be sure, +there are lovers who are watched with considerable +interest, such persons having been known, in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> +moments of depression, to offer very desirable +ghost-ships; but I did not think of anything of +that kind in connection with you. You were the +only person I cared to speak to, and I hoped that +you might give me some information that would +be of use; and, in return, I shall be very glad to +help you in your love affair.”</p> + +<p>“You seem to know that I have such an affair,” +I said.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes!” replied the other, with a little yawn. +“I could not be here so much as I have been without +knowing all about that.”</p> + +<p>There was something horrible in the idea of +Madeline and myself having been watched by a +ghost, even, perhaps, when we wandered together +in the most delightful and bosky places. But, +then, this was quite an exceptional ghost, and I +could not have the objections to him which would +ordinarily arise in regard to beings of his class.</p> + +<p>“I must go now,” said the ghost, rising: “but I +will see you somewhere to-morrow night. And remember—you +help me, and I'll help you.”</p> + +<p>I had doubts the next morning as to the propriety +of telling Madeline anything about this +interview, and soon convinced myself that I must +keep silent on the subject. If she knew there was +a ghost about the house, she would probably leave +the place instantly. I did not mention the matter, +and so regulated my demeanor that I am quite +sure Madeline never suspected what had taken +place. For some time I had wished that Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +Hinckman would absent himself, for a day at least, +from the premises. In such case I thought I might +more easily nerve myself up to the point of speaking +to Madeline on the subject of our future collateral +existence; and, now that the opportunity +for such speech had really occurred, I did not feel +ready to avail myself of it. What would become +of me if she refused me?</p> + +<p>I had an idea, however, that the lady thought +that, if I were going to speak at all, this was the +time. She must have known that certain sentiments +were afloat within me, and she was not unreasonable +in her wish to see the matter settled one +way or the other. But I did not feel like taking a +bold step in the dark. If she wished me to ask +her to give herself to me, she ought to offer me some +reason to suppose that she would make the gift. +If I saw no probability of such generosity, I would +prefer that things should remain as they were.</p> + +<br /> + +<p>That evening I was sitting with Madeline in the +moonlit porch. It was nearly ten o'clock, and ever +since supper-time I had been working myself up to +the point of making an avowal of my sentiments. +I had not positively determined to do this, but +wished gradually to reach the proper point, when, +if the prospect looked bright, I might speak. My +companion appeared to understand the situation—at +least, I imagined that the nearer I came to a +proposal the more she seemed to expect it. It was +certainly a very critical and important epoch in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +my life. If I spoke, I should make myself happy or +miserable forever, and if I did not speak I had +every reason to believe that the lady would not +give me another chance to do so.</p> + +<p>Sitting thus with Madeline, talking a little, and +thinking very hard over these momentous matters, +I looked up and saw the ghost, not a dozen feet +away from us. He was sitting on the railing of the +porch, one leg thrown up before him, the other +dangling down as he leaned against a post. He was +behind Madeline, but almost in front of me, as I +sat facing the lady. It was fortunate that Madeline +was looking out over the landscape, for I must +have appeared very much startled. The ghost had +told me that he would see me some time this night, +but I did not think he would make his appearance +when I was in the company of Madeline. If she +should see the spirit of her uncle, I could not +answer for the consequences. I made no exclamation, +but the ghost evidently saw that I was +troubled.</p> + +<p>“Don't be afraid,” he said—“I shall not let her +see me; and she cannot hear me speak unless I address +myself to her, which I do not intend to do.”</p> + +<p>I suppose I looked grateful.</p> + +<p>“So you need not trouble yourself about that,” +the ghost continued; “but it seems to me that you +are not getting along very well with your affair. +If I were you, I should speak out without waiting +any longer. You will never have a better chance. +You are not likely to be interrupted; and, so far<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +as I can judge, the lady seems disposed to listen to +you favorably; that is, if she ever intends to do so. +There is no knowing when John Hinckman will go +away again; certainly not this summer. If I were +in your place, I should never dare to make love to +Hinckman's niece if he were anywhere about the +place. If he should catch anyone offering himself +to Miss Madeline, he would then be a terrible man +to encounter.”</p> + +<p>I agreed perfectly to all this.</p> + +<p>“I cannot bear to think of him!” I ejaculated +aloud.</p> + +<p>“Think of whom?” asked Madeline, turning +quickly toward me.</p> + +<p>Here was an awkward situation. The long +speech of the ghost, to which Madeline paid no +attention, but which I heard with perfect distinctness, +had made me forget myself.</p> + +<p>It was necessary to explain quickly. Of course, +it would not do to admit that it was of her dear +uncle that I was speaking; and so I mentioned +hastily the first name I thought of.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Vilars,” I said.</p> + +<p>This statement was entirely correct; for I never +could bear to think of Mr. Vilars, who was a gentleman +who had, at various times, paid much attention +to Madeline.</p> + +<p>“It is wrong for you to speak in that way of Mr. +Vilars,” she said. “He is a remarkably well educated +and sensible young man, and has very +pleasant manners. He expects to be elected to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +legislature this fall, and I should not be surprised if +he made his mark. He will do well in a legislative +body, for whenever Mr. Vilars has anything to +say he knows just how and when to say it.”</p> + +<p>This was spoken very quietly, and without any +show of resentment, which was all very natural, +for if Madeline thought at all favorably of me she +could not feel displeased that I should have disagreeable +emotions in regard to a possible rival. +The concluding words contained a hint which I +was not slow to understand. I felt very sure that +if Mr. Vilars were in my present position he would +speak quickly enough.</p> + +<p>“I know it is wrong to have such ideas about a +person,” I said, “but I cannot help it.”</p> + +<p>The lady did not chide me, and after this she +seemed even in a softer mood. As for me, I felt +considerably annoyed, for I had not wished to +admit that any thought of Mr. Vilars had ever +occupied my mind.</p> + +<p>“You should not speak aloud that way,” said +the ghost, “or you may get yourself into trouble. +I want to see everything go well with you, because +then you may be disposed to help me, especially if +I should chance to be of any assistance to you, +which I hope I shall be.”</p> + +<p>I longed to tell him that there was no way in +which he could help me so much as by taking his +instant departure. To make love to a young lady +with a ghost sitting on the railing nearby, and that +ghost the apparition of a much-dreaded uncle, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +very idea of whom in such a position and at such a +time made me tremble, was a difficult, if not an +impossible, thing to do; but I forbore to speak, +although I may have looked my mind.</p> + +<p>“I suppose,” continued the ghost, “that you +have not heard anything that might be of advantage +to me. Of course, I am very anxious to hear; +but if you have anything to tell me, I can wait +until you are alone. I will come to you to-night +in your room, or I will stay here until the lady goes +away.”</p> + +<p>“You need not wait here,” I said; “I have nothing +at all to say to you.”</p> + +<p>Madeline sprang to her feet, her face flushed and +her eyes ablaze.</p> + +<p>“Wait here!” she cried. “What do you suppose +I am waiting for? Nothing to say to me indeed!—I +should think so! What should you have to say +to me?”</p> + +<p>“Madeline!” I exclaimed, stepping toward her, +“let me explain.”</p> + +<p>But she had gone.</p> + +<p>Here was the end of the world for me! I turned +fiercely to the ghost.</p> + +<p>“Wretched existence!” I cried. “You have +ruined everything. You have blackened my whole +life. Had it not been for you——”</p> + +<p>But here my voice faltered. I could say no +more.</p> + +<p>“You wrong me,” said the ghost. “I have not +injured you. I have tried only to encourage and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +assist you, and it is your own folly that has done +this mischief. But do not despair. Such mistakes +as these can be explained. Keep up a brave heart. +Good-by.”</p> + +<p>And he vanished from the railing like a bursting +soap-bubble.</p> + +<p>I went gloomily to bed, but I saw no apparitions +that night except those of despair and misery which +my wretched thoughts called up. The words I had +uttered had sounded to Madeline like the basest +insult. Of course, there was only one interpretation +she could put upon them.</p> + +<p>As to explaining my ejaculations, that was impossible. +I thought the matter over and over again +as I lay awake that night, and I determined that I +would never tell Madeline the facts of the case. It +would be better for me to suffer all my life than for +her to know that the ghost of her uncle haunted +the house. Mr. Hinckman was away, and if she +knew of his ghost she could not be made to believe +that he was not dead. She might not survive the +shock! No, my heart could bleed, but I would +never tell her.</p> + +<p>The next day was fine, neither too cool nor too +warm; the breezes were gentle, and nature smiled. +But there were no walks or rides with Madeline. +She seemed to be much engaged during the day, +and I saw but little of her. When we met at meals +she was polite, but very quiet and reserved. She +had evidently determined on a course of conduct +and had resolved to assume that, although I had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +been very rude to her, she did not understand the +import of my words. It would be quite proper, of +course, for her not to know what I meant by my +expressions of the night before.</p> + +<p>I was downcast and wretched, and said but little, +and the only bright streak across the black horizon +of my woe was the fact that she did not appear to +be happy, although she affected an air of unconcern. +The moonlit porch was deserted that +evening, but wandering about the house I found +Madeline in the library alone. She was reading, +but I went in and sat down near her. I felt that, +although I could not do so fully, I must in a measure +explain my conduct of the night before. She +listened quietly to a somewhat labored apology +I made for the words I had used.</p> + +<p>“I have not the slightest idea what you meant,” +she said, “but you were very rude.”</p> + +<p>I earnestly disclaimed any intention of rudeness, +and assured her, with a warmth of speech that +must have made some impression upon her, that +rudeness to her would be an action impossible to +me. I said a great deal upon the subject, and implored +her to believe that if it were not for a certain +obstacle I could speak to her so plainly that she +would understand everything.</p> + +<p>She was silent for a time, and then she said, +rather more kindly, I thought, than she had spoken +before:</p> + +<p>“Is that obstacle in any way connected with my +uncle?”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes,” I answered, after a little hesitation, “it +is, in a measure, connected with him.”</p> + +<p>She made no answer to this, and sat looking at +her book, but not reading. From the expression +of her face, I thought she was somewhat softened +toward me. She knew her uncle as well as I did, +and she may have been thinking that, if he were +the obstacle that prevented my speaking (and +there were many ways in which he might be that +obstacle), my position would be such a hard one +that it would excuse some wildness of speech and +eccentricity of manner. I saw, too, that the +warmth of my partial explanations had had some +effect on her, and I began to believe that it might +be a good thing for me to speak my mind without +delay. No matter how she should receive my proposition, +my relations with her could not be worse +than they had been the previous night and day, +and there was something in her face which encouraged +me to hope that she might forget my +foolish exclamations of the evening before if I +began to tell her my tale of love.</p> + +<p>I drew my chair a little nearer to her, and as I +did so the ghost burst into the room from the doorway +behind her. I say burst, although no door +flew open and he made no noise. He was wildly +excited, and waved his arms above his head. The +moment I saw him, my heart fell within me. With +the entrance of that impertinent apparition, every +hope fled from me. I could not speak while he was +in the room.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> + +<p>I must have turned pale; and I gazed steadfastly +at the ghost, almost without seeing Madeline, who +sat between us.</p> + +<p>“Do you know,” he cried, “that John Hinckman +is coming up the hill? He will be here in +fifteen minutes; and if you are doing anything in +the way of love-making, you had better hurry it +up. But this is not what I came to tell you. I +have glorious news! At last I am transferred! Not +forty minutes ago a Russian nobleman was murdered +by the Nihilists. Nobody ever thought of +him in connection with an immediate ghost-ship. +My friends instantly applied for the situation for +me, and obtained my transfer. I am off before +that horrid Hinckman comes up the hill. The +moment I reach my new position, I shall put off +this hated semblance. Good-by. You can't imagine +how glad I am to be, at last, the real ghost of +somebody.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” I cried, rising to my feet, and stretching +out my arms in utter wretchedness, “I would to +Heaven you were mine!”</p> + +<p>“I <i>am</i> yours,” said Madeline, raising to me her +tearful eyes.</p> +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="THE_MUMMYS_FOOT" id="THE_MUMMYS_FOOT"></a>THE MUMMY'S FOOT</h3> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> THÉOPHILE GAUTIER</h4> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Translated for this volume by Sara Goldman.</p></div> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>The Mummy's Foot</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> THÉOPHILE GAUTIER</h4> + + +<p>I had sauntered idly into the shop of one of those +dealers in old curiosities—“bric-à-brac” as they +say in that Parisian <i>argot</i>, so absolutely unintelligible +elsewhere in France.</p> + +<p>You have no doubt often glanced through the +windows of some of these shops, which have become +numerous since it is so fashionable to buy +antique furniture, that the humblest stockbroker +feels obliged to have a room furnished in medieval +style.</p> + +<p>Something is there which belongs alike to the +shop of the dealer in old iron, the warehouse of +the merchant, the laboratory of the chemist, and +the studio of the painter: in all these mysterious +recesses, where but a discreet half-light filters +through the shutters, the most obviously antique +thing is the dust: the cobwebs are more genuine +than the laces, and the old pear-tree furniture is +more modern than the mahogany which arrived +but yesterday from America.</p> + +<p>The warehouse of my dealer in bric-à-brac was a +veritable Capharnaüm; all ages and all countries +seemed to have arranged a rendezvous there; an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +Etruscan terra cotta lamp stood upon a Boule +cabinet, with ebony panels decorated with simple +filaments of inlaid copper: a duchess of the reign of +Louis XV stretched nonchalantly her graceful +feet under a massive Louis XIII table with heavy, +spiral oaken legs, and carvings of intermingled +flowers and grotesque figures.</p> + +<p>In a corner glittered the ornamented breastplate +of a suit of damaskeened armor of Milan. The +shelves and floor were littered with porcelain cupids +and nymphs, Chinese monkeys, vases of pale green +enamel, cups of Dresden and old Sèvres.</p> + +<p>Upon the denticulated shelves of sideboards, +gleamed huge Japanese plaques, with red and blue +designs outlined in gold, side by side with the +enamels of Bernard Palissy, with serpents, frogs, +and lizards in relief.</p> + +<p>From ransacked cabinets tumbled cascades of +silvery-gleaming China silk, the shimmering brocade +pricked into luminous beads by a slanting +sunbeam; while portraits of every epoch smiled +through their yellowed varnish from frames more +or less tarnished.</p> + +<p>The dealer followed me watchfully through the +tortuous passages winding between the piles of +furniture, warding off with his hands the perilous +swing of my coat tail, observing my elbows with +the disquieting concern of an antiquarian and a +usurer.</p> + +<p>He was an odd figure—this dealer; an enormous +skull, smooth as a knee, was surrounded by a scant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +aureole of white hair, which, by contrast, emphasized +the salmon-colored tint of his complexion, +and gave a wrong impression of patriarchal benevolence, +corrected, however, by the glittering of +two small, yellow eyes which shifted in their orbits +like two <i>louis d'or</i> floating on quicksilver. The +curve of his nose gave him an aquiline silhouette, +which suggested the Oriental or Jewish type. His +hands, long, slender, with prominent veins and +sinews protruding like the strings on a violin, with +nails like the claws on the membraneous wings of +the bat moved with a senile trembling painful to +behold, but those nervously quivering hands became +firmer than pincers of steel, or the claws of a +lobster, when they picked up any precious object, +an onyx cup, a Venetian glass, or a platter of Bohemian +crystal. This curious old fellow had an +air so thoroughly rabbinical and cabalistic, that, +from mere appearance, he would have been burned +at the stake three centuries ago.</p> + +<p>“Will you not buy something from me to-day, +sir? Here is a kris from Malay, with a blade which +undulates like a flame; look at these grooves for +the blood to drip from, these teeth reversed so as +to tear out the entrails in withdrawing the weapon; +it is a fine specimen of a ferocious weapon, and will +be an interesting addition to your trophies; this +two-handed sword is very beautiful—it is the +work of Joseph de la Herz; and this <i>cauchelimarde</i> +with its carved guard—what superb workmanship!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>“No, I have enough weapons and instruments of +carnage; I should like to have a small figure, any +sort of object which can be used for a paper weight; +for I cannot endure those commonplace bronzes +for sale at the stationers which one sees invariably +on everybody's desk.”</p> + +<p>The old gnome, rummaging among his ancient +wares, displayed before me some antique bronzes—pseudo-antique, +at least, fragments of malachite, +little Hindu and Chinese idols, jade monkeys, incarnations +of Brahma and Vishnu, marvelously +suitable for the purpose—scarcely divine—of +holding papers and letters in place.</p> + +<p>I was hesitating between a porcelain dragon +covered with constellations of warts, its jaws embellished +with teeth and tusks, and a hideous little +Mexican fetish, representing realistically the god +Vitziliputzili, when I noticed a charming foot, +which at first I supposed was a fragment of some +antique Venus.</p> + +<p>It had that beautiful tawny reddish tint, which +gives the Florentine bronzes their warm, life-like +appearance, so preferable to the verdigris tones of +ordinary bronzes, which might be taken readily for +statues in a state of putrefaction; a satiny luster +gleamed over its curves, polished by the amorous +kisses of twenty centuries; for it must have been a +Corinthian bronze, a work of the finest period, +molded perhaps by Lysippus himself.</p> + +<p>“That foot will do,” I said to the dealer, who +looked at me with an ironical, crafty expression, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +he handed me the object I asked for, so that I +might examine it more carefully.</p> + +<p>I was surprised at its lightness. It was not a +metal foot but in reality a foot of flesh, an embalmed +foot, a mummy's foot; on examining it +more closely, one could distinguish the grain of the +skin, and the almost imperceptible imprint of the +weave of the wrappings. The toes were slender, +delicate, with perfect nails, pure and transparent +as agate; the great toe, slightly separated from the +others, in the antique manner was in pleasing contrast +to the position of the other toes, and gave a +suggestion of the freedom and lightness of a bird's +foot. The sole, faintly streaked with almost invisible +lines, showed that it had never touched the +ground, or come in contact with anything but the +finest mats woven from the rushes of the Nile, and +the softest rugs of panther skin.</p> + +<p>“Ha, ha! You want the foot of the Princess +Hermonthis,” said the dealer with a strange, +mocking laugh, staring at me with his owlish eyes. +“Ha, ha, ha, for a paper weight! An original idea! +an artist's idea! If anyone had told old Pharaoh +that the foot of his adored daughter would be used +for a paper weight, particularly whilst he was +having a mountain of granite hollowed out in which +to place her triple coffin, painted and gilded, +covered with hieroglyphics, and beautiful pictures +of the judgment of souls, it would truly have surprised +him,” continued the queer little dealer, in +low tones, as though talking to himself.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>“How much will you charge me for this fragment +of a mummy?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, as much as I can get; for it is a superb +piece; if I had the mate to it, you could not have +it for less than five hundred francs—the daughter +of a Pharaoh! there could be nothing more choice.”</p> + +<p>“Assuredly it is not common; but, still, how +much do you want for it? First, however, I want +to acquaint you with one fact, which is, that my +fortune consists of only five louis. I will buy anything +that costs five louis, but nothing more expensive. +You may search my vest pockets, and +my most secret bureau drawers, but you will not +find one miserable five franc piece besides.”</p> + +<p>“Five louis for the foot of the Princess Hermonthis! +It is very little, too little, in fact, for an +authentic foot,” said the dealer, shaking his head +and rolling his eyes with a peculiar rotary motion. +“Very well, take it, and I will throw in the outer +covering,” he said, rolling it in a shred of old +damask—“very beautiful, genuine damask, which +has never been redyed; it is strong, yet it is soft,” +he muttered, caressing the frayed tissue, in accordance +with his dealer's habit of praising an article +of so little value, that he himself thought it good +for nothing but to give away.</p> + +<p>He dropped the gold pieces into a kind of medieval +pouch which was fastened at his belt, while he +repeated:</p> + +<p>“The foot of the Princess Hermonthis to be used +for a paper weight!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>Then, fastening upon me his phosphorescent +pupils he said, in a voice strident as the wails of a +cat which has just swallowed a fish bone:</p> + +<p>“Old Pharaoh will not be pleased; he loved his +daughter—that dear man.”</p> + +<p>“You speak of him as though you were his contemporary; +no matter how old you may be, you +do not date back to the pyramids of Egypt,” I +answered laughingly from the threshold of the +shop.</p> + +<p>I returned home, delighted with my purchase.</p> + +<p>To make use of it at once, I placed the foot of the +exalted Princess Hermonthis on a stack of papers—sketches +of verses, undecipherable mosaics of +crossed out words, unfinished articles, forgotten +letters, posted in the desk drawer, a mistake often +made by absent-minded people; the effect was +pleasing, bizarre, and romantic.</p> + +<p>Highly delighted with this decoration, I went +down into the street, and took a walk with all the +importance and pride proper to a man who has the +inexpressible advantage over the passersby he +elbows, of possessing a fragment of the Princess +Hermonthis, daughter of Pharaoh.</p> + +<p>I thought people who did not possess, like myself, +a paper weight so genuinely Egyptian, were +objects of ridicule, and it seemed to me the proper +business of the sensible man to have a mummy's +foot upon his desk.</p> + +<p>Happily, an encounter with several friends distracted +me from my raptures over my recent acquisition,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +I went to dinner with them, for it would +have been hard for me to dine alone.</p> + +<p>When I returned at night, with my brain somewhat +muddled by the effects of a few glasses of +wine, a vague whiff of oriental perfume tickled +delicately my olfactory nerves. The heat of the +room had warmed the natron, the bitumen, and +the myrrh in which the <i>paraschites</i> who embalmed +the dead had bathed the body of the Princess; it +was a delicate, yet penetrating perfume, which four +thousand years had not been able to dissipate.</p> + +<p>The Dream of Egypt was for the Eternal; its +odors have the solidity of granite, and last as long.</p> + +<p>In a short time I drank full draughts from the +black cup of sleep; for an hour or two all remained +in obscurity; Oblivion and Nothingness submerged +me in their somber waves.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless the haziness of my perceptions +gradually cleared away, dreams began to brush me +lightly in their silent flight.</p> + +<p>The eyes of my soul opened, and I saw my room +as it was in reality. I might have believed myself +awake, if I had not had a vague consciousness that +I was asleep, and that something very unusual was +about to take place.</p> + +<p>The odor of myrrh had increased in intensity, +and I had a slight headache, which I very naturally +attributed to several glasses of champagne that +we had drunk to unknown gods, and to our future +success.</p> + +<p>I scrutinized my room with a feeling of expectation,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +which there was nothing to justify. Each +piece of furniture was in its usual place; the lamp, +softly shaded by the milky whiteness of its ground +crystal globe, burned upon the console, the water +colors glowed from under the Bohemian glass; +the curtains hung in heavy drooping folds; everything +suggested tranquility and slumber.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, after a few moments the quiet of +the room was disturbed, the woodwork creaked +furtively, the ash-covered log suddenly spurted +out a blue flame, and the surfaces of the plaques +seemed like metallic eyes, watching, like myself, for +what was about to happen.</p> + +<p>By chance my eyes fell on the table on which I +had placed the foot of the Princess Hermonthis.</p> + +<p>Instead of remaining in the state of immobility +proper to a foot which has been embalmed for four +thousand years, it moved about in an agitated +manner, twitching, leaping about over the papers +like a frightened frog; one might have thought it in +contact with a galvanic battery; I could hear distinctly +the quick tap of the little heel, hard as the +hoof of a gazelle.</p> + +<p>I became rather dissatisfied with my purchase, +for I like paper weights of sedentary habits—besides +I found it very unnatural for feet to move +about without legs, and I began to feel something +closely resembling fear.</p> + +<p>Suddenly I noticed a movement of one of the +folds of my curtains, and I heard a stamping like +that made by a person hopping about on one foot.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +I must admit that I grew hot and cold by turns, +that I felt a mysterious breeze blowing down my +back, and that my hair stood on end so suddenly +that it forced my night-cap to a leap of several +degrees.</p> + +<p>The curtains partly opened, and I saw the +strangest figure possible advancing.</p> + +<p>It was a young girl, as coffee-coloured as Amani +the dancer, and of a perfect beauty of the purest +Egyptian type. She had slanting almond-shaped +eyes, with eyebrows so black that they appeared +blue; her nose was finely chiseled, almost Grecian +in its delicacy; she might have been taken for a +Corinthian statue of bronze, had not her prominent +cheekbones and rather African fullness of lips +indicated without a doubt the hieroglyphic race +which dwelt on the banks of the Nile.</p> + +<p>Her arms, thin, spindle shaped, like those of very +young girls, were encircled with a kind of metal +ornament, and bracelets of glass beads; her hair +was twisted into little cords; on her breast hung a +green paste idol, identified by her whip of seven +lashes as Isis, guide of souls—a golden ornament +shone on her forehead, and slight traces of rouge +were visible on the coppery tints of her cheeks.</p> + +<p>As for her costume, it was very odd.</p> + +<p>Imagine a <i>pagne</i> made of narrow strips bedizened +with red and black hieroglyphics, weighted +with bitumen, and apparently belonging to a +mummy newly unswathed.</p> + +<p>In one of those flights of fancy usual in dreams,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +I could hear the hoarse, rough voice of the dealer +of bric-à-brac reciting in a monotonous refrain, the +phrase he had kept repeating in his shop in so +enigmatic a manner.</p> + +<p>“Old Pharaoh will not be pleased—he loved his +daughter very much—that dear man.”</p> + +<p>One peculiar detail, which was hardly reassuring, +was that the apparition had but one foot, the other +was broken off at the ankle.</p> + +<p>She approached the table, where the mummy's +foot was fidgeting and tossing about with redoubled +energy. She leaned against the edge, and I saw +her eyes fill with pearly tears.</p> + +<p>Although she did not speak, I fully understood +her feelings. She looked at the foot, for it was in +truth her own, with an expression of coquettish +sadness, which was extremely charming; but the +foot kept jumping and running about as though +it were moved by springs of steel.</p> + +<p>Two or three times she stretched out her hand to +grasp it, but did not succeed.</p> + +<p>Then began between the Princess Hermonthis +and her foot, which seemed to be endowed with an +individuality of its own, a very bizarre dialogue, in +an ancient Coptic tongue, such as might have been +spoken thirty centuries before, among the sphinxes +of the Land of Ser; fortunately, that night I understood +Coptic perfectly.</p> + +<p>The Princess Hermonthis said in a tone of voice +sweet and tremulous as the tones of a crystal +bell:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>“Well, my dear little foot, you always flee from +me, yet I took the best of care of you; I bathed you +with perfumed water, in a basin of alabaster; I +rubbed your heel with pumice stone, mixed with +oil of palm; your nails were cut with golden scissors, +and polished with a hippopotamus' tooth; I was +careful to select for you painted and embroidered +<i>tatbebs</i>, with turned up toes, which were the +envy of all the young girls of Egypt; on your great +toe, you wore rings representing the sacred Scarab, +and you supported one of the lightest bodies that +could be desired by a lazy foot.”</p> + +<p>The foot answered in a pouting, regretful voice:</p> + +<p>“You know well that I no longer belong to myself. +I have been bought and paid for; the old +dealer knew what he was about. He bears you a +grudge for having refused to marry him. This is a +trick he has played on you. The Arab who forced +open your royal tomb, in the subterranean pits of +the Necropolis of Thebes, was sent there by him. +He wanted to prevent you from attending the reunion +of the shades, in the cities of the lower world. +Have you five pieces of gold with which to ransom +me?”</p> + +<p>“Alas, no! My jewels, my rings, my purses of +gold and of silver have all been stolen from me,” +answered the Princess Hermonthis with a sigh.</p> + +<p>“Princess,” I then cried out, “I have never kept +possession of anyone's foot unjustly; even though +you have not the five louis which it cost me, I will +return it to you gladly; I should be wretched, were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +I the cause of the lameness of so charming a person +as the Princess Hermonthis.”</p> + +<p>I delivered this discourse in a courtly, troubadour-like +manner, which must have astonished the +beautiful Egyptian.</p> + +<p>She looked at me with an expression of deepest +gratitude, and her eyes brightened with bluish +lights.</p> + +<p>She took her foot, which this time submitted, +and, like a woman about to put on her brodekin, +she adjusted it to her leg with great dexterity.</p> + +<p>This operation finished, she took a few steps +about the room, as though to assure herself that +she was in reality no longer lame.</p> + +<p>“Ah, how happy my father will be, he who was +so wretched because of my mutilation—he who, +from the day of my birth, set a whole nation to +work to hollow out a tomb so deep that he might +preserve me intact until that supreme last day, +when souls must be weighed in the scales of Amenti! +Come with me to my father; he will be happy to +receive you, for you have given me back my foot.”</p> + +<p>I found this proposition quite natural. I decked +myself out in a dressing-gown of huge sprawling +design, which gave me an extremely Pharaohesque +appearance; I hurriedly put on a pair of Turkish +slippers, and told the Princess Hermonthis that I +was ready to follow her.</p> + +<p>Before setting out, Hermonthis detached from +her necklace the little green paste image and placed +it on the scattered papers which strewed the table.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>“It is no more than right,” she said smilingly, +“that I should replace your paper weight.”</p> + +<p>She gave me her hand, which was soft and cool +as the skin of a serpent, and we departed.</p> + +<p>For a time we sped with the rapidity of an arrow, +through a misty expanse of space, in which almost +indistinguishable silhouettes flashed by us, on the +right and left.</p> + +<p>For an instant we saw nothing but sea and sky.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later, towering obelisks, pillars, +the sloping outlines of the sphinx, were designed +against the horizon.</p> + +<p>We had arrived.</p> + +<p>The princess conducted me to the side of a mountain +of red granite in which there was an aperture +so low and narrow that, had it not been marked by +two monoliths covered with bizarre carvings, it +would have been difficult to distinguish from the +fissures in the rock.</p> + +<p>Hermonthis lighted a torch and led the way.</p> + +<p>The corridors were hewn through the living rock. +The walls, with panels covered with hieroglyphics, +and representations of allegorical processions, must +have been the work of thousands of hands for +thousands of years; the corridors, of an interminable +length, ended in square rooms, in the middle +of which pits had been constructed, to which we +descended by means of <i>crampons</i> or spiral staircases. +These pits led us into other rooms, from +which opened out other corridors embellished in +the same bizarre manner with sparrow-hawks,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +serpents coiled in circles, the symbolic tau, pedum, +and baris, prodigious works which no living eye +should ever see, interminable legends in granite +which only the dead throughout eternity have +time to read.</p> + +<p>At last we reached a hall so vast, so boundless, so +immeasurable, that its limits could not be discerned. +As far as the eye could see, extended files +of gigantic columns, between which sparkled livid +stars of yellow light. These glittering points of +light revealed incalculable depths beyond.</p> + +<p>The Princess Hermonthis, still holding my hand, +greeted graciously the mummies of her acquaintance.</p> + +<p>My eyes gradually became accustomed to the +shadowy twilight, and I began to distinguish the +objects around me.</p> + +<p>I saw, seated upon their thrones, the kings of the +subterranean races. They were dignified old personages, +or dried up, shriveled, wrinkled-like parchment, +and blackened with naphtha and bitumen. +On their heads they wore pschents of gold, and +their breastplates and gorgets scintillated with +precious stones; their eyes had the fixedness of +the sphinx, and their long beards were whitened by +the snows of centuries. Behind them stood their +embalmed subjects, in the rigid and constrained +postures of Egyptian art, preserving eternally the +attitudes prescribed by the hieratic code. Behind +the subjects, the cats, ibixes, and crocodiles contemporary +with them, rendered still more monstrous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +by their wrappings, mewed, beat their wings, +and opened and closed their huge jaws in foolish +grimaces.</p> + +<p>All the Pharaohs were there—Cheops, Chephrenes, +Psammetichus, Sesostri, Amenoteph, all the +dark-skinned rulers of the country of the pyramids, +and the royal sepulchers; on a still higher platform +sat enthroned the kings Chronos, and Xixouthros, +who were contemporary with the deluge, and Tubal-Cain, +who preceded it.</p> + +<p>The beard of King Xixouthros had grown to such +lengths that it had already wound itself seven +times around the granite table against which he +leaned, lost in reverie, as though in slumber.</p> + +<p>Further in the distance, through a dim exhalation, +across the mists of eternities, I beheld vaguely +the seventy-two pre-Adamite kings, with their +seventy-two peoples, vanished forever.</p> + +<p>The Princess Hermonthis, after allowing me a +few moments to enjoy this dizzying spectacle, presented +me to Pharaoh, her father, who nodded to +me in a most majestic manner.</p> + +<p>“I have found my foot—I have found my foot!” +cried the Princess, clapping her little hands, with +every indication of uncontrollable joy. “It was +this gentleman who returned it to me.”</p> + +<p>The races of Kheme, the races of Nahasi, all the +races, black, bronze, and copper-colored, repeated +in a chorus:</p> + +<p>“The Princess Hermonthis has found her foot.”</p> + +<p>Xixouthros himself was deeply affected.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>He raised his heavy eyelids, stroked his moustache, +and regarded me with his glance charged +with the centuries.</p> + +<p>“By Oms, the dog of Hell, and by Tmei, daughter +of the Sun and of Truth, here is a brave and +worthy young man,” said Pharaoh, extending +toward me his scepter which terminated in a lotus +flower. “What recompense do you desire?”</p> + +<p>Eagerly, with that audacity which one has in +dreams, where nothing seems impossible, I asked +him for the hand of the Princess Hermonthis. Her +hand in exchange for her foot, seemed to me an +antithetical recompense, in sufficiently good taste.</p> + +<p>Pharaoh opened wide his eyes of glass, surprised +at my pleasantry, as well as my request.</p> + +<p>“From what country are you, and what is your +age?”</p> + +<p>“I am a Frenchman, and I am twenty-seven +years old, venerable Pharaoh.”</p> + +<p>“Twenty-seven years old! And he wishes to +espouse the Princess Hermonthis, who is thirty +centuries old!” exclaimed in a chorus all the +thrones, and all the circles of nations.</p> + +<p>Hermonthis alone did not seem to think my request +improper.</p> + +<p>“If you were even two thousand years old,” +continued the old king, “I would gladly bestow +upon you the Princess; but the disproportion is too +great; besides, our daughters must have husbands +who will last, and you no longer know how to preserve +yourselves. Of the last persons who were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +brought here, scarcely fifteen centuries ago, nothing +now remains but a pinch of ashes. Look! my +flesh is as hard as basalt, my bones are bars of +steel. I shall be present on the last day, with the +body and features I had in life. My daughter +Hermonthis will last longer than a statue of bronze. +But at that time the winds will have dissipated the +last grains of your dust, and Isis herself, who knew +how to recover the fragments of Osiris, would +hardly be able to recompose your being. See how +vigorous I still am, and how powerful is the +strength of my arm,” said he, shaking my hand in +the English fashion, in a way that cut my fingers +with my rings.</p> + +<p>His grasp was so strong that I awoke, and discovered +my friend Alfred, who was pulling me by +the arm, and shaking me, to make me get up.</p> + +<p>“Oh, see here, you maddening sleeper! Must I +have you dragged into the middle of the street, and +have fireworks put off close to your ear, in order +to waken you? It is afternoon. Don't you remember +that you promised to call for me and take +me to see the Spanish pictures of M. Aguada?”</p> + +<p>“Good heavens! I forgot all about it,” I answered, +dressing hurriedly. “We can go there at +once—I have the permit here on my table.” I +crossed over to get it; imagine my astonishment +when I saw, not the mummy's foot I had bought +the evening before, but the little green paste image +left in its place by the Princess Hermonthis!</p> +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="THE_RIVAL_GHOSTS" id="THE_RIVAL_GHOSTS"></a>THE RIVAL GHOSTS</h3> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By BRANDER MATTHEWS</span></h4> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>From <i>Tales of Fantasy and Fact</i>, by Brander Matthews. Copyright, +1886, by Harper Brothers. By permission of the publishers +and Brander Matthews.</p></div> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>The Rival Ghosts</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By BRANDER MATTHEWS</span></h4> + + +<p>The good ship sped on her way across the calm +Atlantic. It was an outward passage, according to +the little charts which the company had charily +distributed, but most of the passengers were homeward +bound, after a summer of rest and recreation, +and they were counting the days before they might +hope to see Fire Island Light. On the lee side of +the boat, comfortably sheltered from the wind, +and just by the door of the captain's room (which +was theirs during the day), sat a little group of +returning Americans. The Duchess (she was down +on the purser's list as Mrs. Martin, but her friends +and familiars called her the Duchess of Washington +Square) and Baby Van Rensselaer (she was quite +old enough to vote, had her sex been entitled to +that duty, but as the younger of two sisters she +was still the baby of the family)—the Duchess and +Baby Van Rensselaer were discussing the pleasant +English voice and the not unpleasant English +accent of a manly young lordling who was going to +America for sport. Uncle Larry and Dear Jones +were enticing each other into a bet on the ship's +run of the morrow.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I'll give you two to one she don't make 420,” +said Dear Jones.</p> + +<p>“I'll take it,” answered Uncle Larry. “We +made 427 the fifth day last year.” It was Uncle +Larry's seventeenth visit to Europe, and this was +therefore his thirty-fourth voyage.</p> + +<p>“And when did you get in?” asked Baby Van +Rensselaer. “I don't care a bit about the run, so +long as we get in soon.”</p> + +<p>“We crossed the bar Sunday night, just seven days +after we left Queenstown, and we dropped anchor +off Quarantine at three o'clock on Monday morning.”</p> + +<p>“I hope we sha'n't do that this time. I can't +seem to sleep any when the boat stops.”</p> + +<p>“I can, but I didn't,” continued Uncle Larry, +“because my stateroom was the most for'ard in +the boat, and the donkey-engine that let down the +anchor was right over my head.”</p> + +<p>“So you got up and saw the sun rise over the +bay,” said Dear Jones, “with the electric lights of +the city twinkling in the distance, and the first +faint flush of the dawn in the east just over Fort +Lafayette, and the rosy tinge which spread softly +upward, and——”</p> + +<p>“Did you both come back together?” asked the +Duchess.</p> + +<p>“Because he has crossed thirty-four times you +must not suppose he has a monopoly in sunrises,” +retorted Dear Jones. “No; this was my own sunrise; +and a mighty pretty one it was too.”</p> + +<p>“I'm not matching sunrises with you,” remarked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +Uncle Larry calmly; “but I'm willing to +back a merry jest called forth by my sunrise against +any two merry jests called forth by yours.”</p> + +<p>“I confess reluctantly that my sunrise evoked +no merry jest at all.” Dear Jones was an honest +man, and would scorn to invent a merry jest on the +spur of the moment.</p> + +<p>“That's where my sunrise has the call,” said +Uncle Larry, complacently.</p> + +<p>“What was the merry jest?” was Baby Van +Rensselaer's inquiry, the natural result of a feminine +curiosity thus artistically excited.</p> + +<p>“Well, here it is. I was standing aft, near a +patriotic American and a wandering Irishman, and +the patriotic American rashly declared that you +couldn't see a sunrise like that anywhere in Europe, +and this gave the Irishman his chance, and he said, +'Sure ye don't have'm here till we're through with +'em over there.'”</p> + +<p>“It is true,” said Dear Jones, thoughtfully, +“that they do have some things over there better +than we do; for instance, umbrellas.”</p> + +<p>“And gowns,” added the Duchess.</p> + +<p>“And antiquities.”—this was Uncle Larry's +contribution.</p> + +<p>“And we do have some things so much better in +America!” protested Baby Van Rensselaer, as yet +uncorrupted by any worship of the effete monarchies +of despotic Europe. “We make lots of +things a great deal nicer than you can get them in +Europe—especially ice-cream.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> + +<p>“And pretty girls,” added Dear Jones; but he +did not look at her.</p> + +<p>“And spooks,” remarked Uncle Larry, casually.</p> + +<p>“Spooks?” queried the Duchess.</p> + +<p>“Spooks. I maintain the word. Ghost, if you +like that better, or specters. We turn out the best +quality of spook——”</p> + +<p>“You forget the lovely ghost stories about the +Rhine and the Black Forest,” interrupted Miss +Van Rensselaer, with feminine inconsistency.</p> + +<p>“I remember the Rhine and the Black Forest +and all the other haunts of elves and fairies and +hobgoblins; but for good honest spooks there is no +place like home. And what differentiates our +spook—<i>spiritus Americanus</i>—from the ordinary +ghost of literature is that it responds to the American +sense of humor. Take Irving's stories, for +example. The 'Headless Horseman'—that's a +comic ghost story. And Rip Van Winkle—consider +what humor, and what good humor, there is +in the telling of his meeting with the goblin crew +of Hendrik Hudson's men! A still better example +of this American way of dealing with legend +and mystery is the marvelous tale of the rival +ghosts.”</p> + +<p>“The rival ghosts!” queried the Duchess and +Baby Van Rensselaer together. “Who were they?”</p> + +<p>“Didn't I ever tell you about them?” answered +Uncle Larry, a gleam of approaching joy flashing +from his eye.</p> + +<p>“Since he is bound to tell us sooner or later, we'd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +better be resigned and hear it now,” said Dear +Jones.</p> + +<p>“If you are not more eager, I won't tell it at all.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, do, Uncle Larry! you know I just dote on +ghost stories,” pleaded Baby Van Rensselaer.</p> + +<p>“Once upon a time,” began Uncle Larry—“in +fact, a very few years ago—there lived in the thriving +town of New York a young American called +Duncan—Eliphalet Duncan. Like his name, he was +half Yankee and half Scotch, and naturally he was +a lawyer, and had come to New York to make his +way. His father was a Scotchman who had come +over and settled in Boston and married a Salem +girl. When Eliphalet Duncan was about twenty +he lost both of his parents. His father left him +enough money to give him a start, and a strong +feeling of pride in his Scotch birth; you see there +was a title in the family in Scotland, and although +Eliphalet's father was the younger son of a younger +son, yet he always remembered, and always bade +his only son to remember, that this ancestry was +noble. His mother left him her full share of Yankee +grit and a little old house in Salem which had +belonged to her family for more than two hundred +years. She was a Hitchcock, and the Hitchcocks +had been settled in Salem since the year 1. It was +a great-great-grandfather of Mr. Eliphalet Hitchcock +who was foremost in the time of the Salem +witchcraft craze. And this little old house which +she left to my friend, Eliphalet Duncan, was +haunted.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> + +<p>“By the ghost of one of the witches, of course?” +interrupted Dear Jones.</p> + +<p>“Now how could it be the ghost of a witch, since +the witches were all burned at the stake? You +never heard of anybody who was burned having a +ghost, did you?” asked Uncle Larry.</p> + +<p>“That's an argument in favor of cremation, at +any rate,” replied Dear Jones, evading the direct +question.</p> + +<p>“It is, if you don't like ghosts. I do,” said Baby +Van Rensselaer.</p> + +<p>“And so do I,” added Uncle Larry. “I love a +ghost as dearly as an Englishman loves a lord.”</p> + +<p>“Go on with your story,” said the Duchess, +majestically overruling all extraneous discussion.</p> + +<p>“This little old house at Salem was haunted,” +resumed Uncle Larry. “And by a very distinguished +ghost—or at least by a ghost with very +remarkable attributes.”</p> + +<p>“What was he like?” asked Baby Van Rensselaer, +with a premonitory shiver of anticipatory +delight.</p> + +<p>“It had a lot of peculiarities. In the first place, +it never appeared to the master of the house. +Mostly it confined its visitations to unwelcome +guests. In the course of the last hundred years +it had frightened away four successive mothers-in-law, +while never intruding on the head of the +household.”</p> + +<p>“I guess that ghost had been one of the boys +when he was alive and in the flesh.” This was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +Dear Jones's contribution to the telling of the +tale.</p> + +<p>“In the second place,” continued Uncle Larry, +“it never frightened anybody the first time it appeared. +Only on the second visit were the ghost-seers +scared; but then they were scared enough for +twice, and they rarely mustered up courage enough +to risk a third interview. One of the most curious +characteristics of this well-meaning spook was that +it had no face—or at least that nobody ever saw +its face.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps he kept his countenance veiled?” +queried the Duchess, who was beginning to remember +that she never did like ghost stories.</p> + +<p>“That was what I was never able to find out. +I have asked several people who saw the ghost, +and none of them could tell me anything about its +face, and yet while in its presence they never +noticed its features, and never remarked on their +absence or concealment. It was only afterwards +when they tried to recall calmly all the circumstances +of meeting with the mysterious stranger +that they became aware that they had not seen its +face. And they could not say whether the features +were covered, or whether they were wanting, or +what the trouble was. They knew only that the +face was never seen. And no matter how often +they might see it, they never fathomed this mystery. +To this day nobody knows whether the +ghost which used to haunt the little old house in +Salem had a face, or what manner of face it had.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p> + +<p>“How awfully weird!” said Baby Van Rensselaer. +“And why did the ghost go away?”</p> + +<p>“I haven't said it went away,” answered Uncle +Larry, with much dignity.</p> + +<p>“But you said it <i>used</i> to haunt the little old +house at Salem, so I supposed it had moved. +Didn't it?” the young lady asked.</p> + +<p>“You shall be told in due time. Eliphalet Duncan +used to spend most of his summer vacations at +Salem, and the ghost never bothered him at all, +for he was the master of the house—much to his +disgust, too, because he wanted to see for himself +the mysterious tenant at will of his property. But +he never saw it, never. He arranged with friends +to call him whenever it might appear, and he slept +in the next room with the door open; and yet when +their frightened cries waked him the ghost was +gone, and his only reward was to hear reproachful +sighs as soon as he went back to bed. You see, the +ghost thought it was not fair of Eliphalet to seek +an introduction which was plainly unwelcome.”</p> + +<p>Dear Jones interrupted the story-teller by +getting up and tucking a heavy rug more snugly +around Baby Van Rensselaer's feet, for the sky +was now overcast and gray, and the air was damp +and penetrating.</p> + +<p>“One fine spring morning,” pursued Uncle +Larry, “Eliphalet Duncan received great news. +I told you that there was a title in the family in +Scotland, and that Eliphalet's father was the +younger son of a younger son. Well, it happened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> +that all Eliphalet's father's brothers and uncles +had died off without male issue except the eldest +son of the eldest son, and he, of course, bore the +title, and was Baron Duncan of Duncan. Now the +great news that Eliphalet Duncan received in +New York one fine spring morning was that Baron +Duncan and his only son had been yachting in the +Hebrides, and they had been caught in a black +squall, and they were both dead. So my friend +Eliphalet Duncan inherited the title and the +estates.”</p> + +<p>“How romantic!” said the Duchess. “So he +was a baron!”</p> + +<p>“Well,” answered Uncle Larry, “he was a baron +if he chose. But he didn't choose.”</p> + +<p>“More fool he!” said Dear Jones, sententiously.</p> + +<p>“Well,” answered Uncle Larry, “I'm not so +sure of that. You see, Eliphalet Duncan was half +Scotch and half Yankee, and he had two eyes to +the main chance. He held his tongue about his +windfall of luck until he could find out whether the +Scotch estates were enough to keep up the Scotch +title. He soon discovered that they were not, and +that the late Lord Duncan, having married money, +kept up such state as he could out of the revenues +of the dowry of Lady Duncan. And Eliphalet, he +decided that he would rather be a well-fed lawyer +in New York, living comfortably on his practice, +than a starving lord in Scotland, living scantily +on his title.”</p> + +<p>“But he kept his title?” asked the Duchess.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Well,” answered Uncle Larry, “he kept it +quiet. I knew it, and a friend or two more. But +Eliphalet was a sight too smart to put 'Baron +Duncan of Duncan, Attorney and Counselor at +Law,' on his shingle.”</p> + +<p>“What has all this got to do with your ghost?” +asked Dear Jones, pertinently.</p> + +<p>“Nothing with that ghost, but a good deal with +another ghost. Eliphalet was very learned in spirit +lore—perhaps because he owned the haunted house +at Salem, perhaps because he was a Scotchman by +descent. At all events, he had made a special study +of the wraiths and white ladies and banshees and +bogies of all kinds whose sayings and doings and +warnings are recorded in the annals of the Scottish +nobility. In fact, he was acquainted with the +habits of every reputable spook in the Scotch +peerage. And he knew that there was a Duncan +ghost attached to the person of the holder of the +title of Baron Duncan of Duncan.”</p> + +<p>“So, besides being the owner of a haunted house +in Salem, he was also a haunted man in Scotland?” +asked Baby Van Rensselaer.</p> + +<p>“Just so. But the Scotch ghost was not unpleasant, +like the Salem ghost, although it had one +peculiarity in common with its transatlantic fellow-spook. +It never appeared to the holder of the title, +just as the other never was visible to the owner of +the house. In fact, the Duncan ghost was never +seen at all. It was a guardian angel only. Its sole +duty was to be in personal attendance on Baron<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +Duncan of Duncan, and to warn him of impending +evil. The traditions of the house told that the +Barons of Duncan had again and again felt a premonition +of ill fortune. Some of them had yielded +and withdrawn from the venture they had undertaken, +and it had failed dismally. Some had been +obstinate, and had hardened their hearts, and had +gone on reckless to defeat and to death. In no +case had a Lord Duncan been exposed to peril +without fair warning.”</p> + +<p>“Then how came it that the father and son were +lost in the yacht off the Hebrides?” asked Dear +Jones.</p> + +<p>“Because they were too enlightened to yield to +superstition. There is extant now a letter of Lord +Duncan, written to his wife a few minutes before +he and his son set sail, in which he tells her how +hard he has had to struggle with an almost overmastering +desire to give up the trip. Had he +obeyed the friendly warning of the family ghost, +the letter would have been spared a journey across +the Atlantic.”</p> + +<p>“Did the ghost leave Scotland for America as +soon as the old baron died?” asked Baby Van +Rensselaer, with much interest.</p> + +<p>“How did he come over,” queried Dear Jones—“in +the steerage, or as a cabin passenger?”</p> + +<p>“I don't know,” answered Uncle Larry, calmly, +“and Eliphalet didn't know. For as he was in no +danger, and stood in no need of warning, he couldn't +tell whether the ghost was on duty or not. Of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +course he was on the watch for it all the time. +But he never got any proof of its presence until he +went down to the little old house of Salem, just +before the Fourth of July. He took a friend down +with him—a young fellow who had been in the +regular army since the day Fort Sumter was fired +on, and who thought that after four years of the +little unpleasantness down South, including six +months in Libby, and after ten years of fighting +the bad Indians on the plains, he wasn't likely to +be much frightened by a ghost. Well, Eliphalet +and the officer sat out on the porch all the evening +smoking and talking over points in military law. +A little after twelve o'clock, just as they began to +think it was about time to turn in, they heard the +most ghastly noise in the house. It wasn't a shriek, +or a howl, or a yell, or anything they could put a +name to. It was an undeterminate, inexplicable +shiver and shudder of sound, which went wailing +out of the window. The officer had been at Cold +Harbor, but he felt himself getting colder this time. +Eliphalet knew it was the ghost who haunted the +house. As this weird sound died away, it was followed +by another, sharp, short, blood-curdling in +its intensity. Something in this cry seemed familiar +to Eliphalet, and he felt sure that it proceeded +from the family ghost, the warning wraith +of the Duncans.”</p> + +<p>“Do I understand you to intimate that both +ghosts were there together?” inquired the Duchess, +anxiously.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Both of them were there,” answered Uncle +Larry. “You see, one of them belonged to the +house, and had to be there all the time, and the +other was attached to the person of Baron Duncan, +and had to follow him there; wherever he was, +there was that ghost also. But Eliphalet, he had +scarcely time to think this out when he heard both +sounds again, not one after another, but both +together, and something told him—some sort of an +instinct he had—that those two ghosts didn't +agree, didn't get on together, didn't exactly hit it +off; in fact, that they were quarreling.”</p> + +<p>“Quarreling ghosts! Well, I never!” was Baby +Van Rensselaer's remark.</p> + +<p>“It is a blessed thing to see ghosts dwell together +in unity,” said Dear Jones.</p> + +<p>And the Duchess added, “It would certainly be +setting a better example.”</p> + +<p>“You know,” resumed Uncle Larry, “that two +waves of light or of sound may interfere and produce +darkness or silence. So it was with these rival +spooks. They interfered, but they did not produce +silence or darkness. On the contrary, as soon as +Eliphalet and the officer went into the house, there +began at once a series of spiritualistic manifestations—a +regular dark séance. A tambourine was +played upon, a bell was rung, and a flaming banjo +went singing around the room.”</p> + +<p>“Where did they get the banjo?” asked Dear +Jones, sceptically.</p> + +<p>“I don't know. Materialized it, maybe, just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +as they did the tambourine. You don't suppose a +quiet New York lawyer kept a stock of musical +instruments large enough to fit out a strolling +minstrel troupe just on the chance of a pair of +ghosts coming to give him a surprise party, do you? +Every spook has its own instrument of torture. +Angels play on harps, I'm informed, and spirits +delight in banjos and tambourines. These spooks +of Eliphalet Duncan's were ghosts with all modern +improvements, and I guess they were capable of +providing their own musical weapons. At all +events, they had them there in the little old house +at Salem the night Eliphalet and his friend came +down. And they played on them, and they rang +the bell, and they rapped here, there, and everywhere. +And they kept it up all night.”</p> + +<p>“All night?” asked the awe-stricken Duchess.</p> + +<p>“All night long,” said Uncle Larry, solemnly; +“and the next night too. Eliphalet did not get a +wink of sleep, neither did his friend. On the second +night the house ghost was seen by the officer; on +the third night it showed itself again; and the next +morning the officer packed his gripsack and took +the first train to Boston. He was a New Yorker, +but he said he'd sooner go to Boston than see that +ghost again. Eliphalet wasn't scared at all, partly +because he never saw either the domiciliary or the +titular spook, and partly because he felt himself on +friendly terms with the spirit world, and didn't +scare easily. But after losing three nights' sleep +and the society of his friend, he began to be a little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +impatient, and to think that the thing had gone +far enough. You see, while in a way he was fond +of ghosts, yet he liked them best one at a time. +Two ghosts were one too many. He wasn't bent +on making a collection of spooks. He and one ghost +were company, but he and two ghosts were a crowd.”</p> + +<p>“What did he do?” asked Baby Van Rensselaer.</p> + +<p>“Well he couldn't do anything. He waited +awhile, hoping they would get tired; but he got +tired out first. You see, it comes natural to a +spook to sleep in the daytime, but a man wants to +sleep nights, and they wouldn't let him sleep nights. +They kept on wrangling and quarreling incessantly; +they manifested and they dark-séanced as +regularly as the old clock on the stairs struck +twelve; they rapped and they rang bells and they +banged the tambourine and they threw the flaming +banjo about the house, and, worse than all, they +swore.”</p> + +<p>“I did not know that spirits were addicted to +bad language,” said the Duchess.</p> + +<p>“How did he know they were swearing? Could +he hear them?” asked Dear Jones.</p> + +<p>“That was just it,” responded Uncle Larry; +“he could not hear them—at least, not distinctly. +There were inarticulate murmurs and stifled +rumblings. But the impression produced on him +was that they were swearing. If they had only +sworn right out, he would not have minded it so +much, because he would have known the worst. +But the feeling that the air was full of suppressed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +profanity was very wearing, and after standing it +for a week he gave up in disgust and went to the +White Mountains.”</p> + +<p>“Leaving them to fight it out, I suppose,” interjected +Baby Van Rensselaer.</p> + +<p>“Not at all,” explained Uncle Larry. “They +could not quarrel unless he was present. You see, +he could not leave the titular ghost behind him, +and the domiciliary ghost could not leave the +house. When he went away he took the family +ghost with him, leaving the house ghost behind. +Now spooks can't quarrel when they are a hundred +miles apart any more than men can.”</p> + +<p>“And what happened afterwards?” asked Baby +Van Rensselaer, with a pretty impatience.</p> + +<p>“A most marvelous thing happened. Eliphalet +Duncan went to the White Mountains, and in the +car of the railroad that runs to the top of Mount +Washington he met a classmate whom he had not +seen for years, and this classmate introduced Duncan +to his sister, and this sister was a remarkably +pretty girl, and Duncan fell in love with her at first +sight, and by the time he got to the top of Mount +Washington he was so deep in love that he began +to consider his own unworthiness, and to wonder +whether she might ever be induced to care for him +a little—ever so little.”</p> + +<p>“I don't think that is so marvelous a thing,” +said Dear Jones, glancing at Baby Van Rensselaer.</p> + +<p>“Who was she?” asked the Duchess, who had +once lived in Philadelphia.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> + +<p>“She was Miss Kitty Sutton, of San Francisco, +and she was a daughter of old Judge Sutton, of the +firm of Pixley & Sutton.”</p> + +<p>“A very respectable family,” assented the +Duchess.</p> + +<p>“I hope she wasn't a daughter of that loud and +vulgar old Mrs. Sutton whom I met at Saratoga one +summer four or five years ago?” said Dear Jones.</p> + +<p>“Probably she was,” Uncle Larry responded.</p> + +<p>“She was a horrid old woman. The boys used to +call her Mother Gorgon.”</p> + +<p>“The pretty Kitty Sutton with whom Eliphalet +Duncan had fallen in love was the daughter of +Mother Gorgon. But he never saw the mother, +who was in Frisco, or Los Angeles, or Santa Fé, or +somewhere out West, and he saw a great deal of +the daughter, who was up in the White Mountains. +She was traveling with her brother and his wife, +and as they journeyed from hotel to hotel Duncan +went with them, and filled out the quartette. Before +the end of the summer he began to think about +proposing. Of course he had lots of chances, going +on excursions as they were every day. He made up +his mind to seize the first opportunity, and that +very evening he took her out for a moonlight row +on Lake Winipiseogee. As he handed her into the +boat he resolved to do it, and he had a glimmer of +suspicion that she knew he was going to do it, too.”</p> + +<p>“Girls,” said Dear Jones, “never go out in a +rowboat at night with a young man unless you +mean to accept him.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Sometimes it's best to refuse him, and get it +over once for all,” said Baby Van Rensselaer, +impersonally.</p> + +<p>“As Eliphalet took the oars he felt a sudden +chill. He tried to shake it off, but in vain. He +began to have a growing consciousness of impending +evil. Before he had taken ten strokes—and +he was a swift oarsman—he was aware of a mysterious +presence between him and Miss Sutton.”</p> + +<p>“Was it the guardian-angel ghost warning him +off the match?” interrupted Dear Jones.</p> + +<p>“That's just what it was,” said Uncle Larry. +“And he yielded to it, and kept his peace, and +rowed Miss Sutton back to the hotel with his proposal +unspoken.”</p> + +<p>“More fool he,” said Dear Jones. “It will take +more than one ghost to keep me from proposing +when my mind is made up.” And he looked at +Baby Van Rensselaer.</p> + +<p>“The next morning,” continued Uncle Larry, +“Eliphalet overslept himself, and when he went +down to a late breakfast he found that the Suttons +had gone to New York by the morning train. He +wanted to follow them at once, and again he felt +the mysterious presence overpowering his will. +He struggled two days, and at last he roused himself +to do what he wanted in spite of the spook. +When he arrived in New York it was late in the +evening. He dressed himself hastily, and went to +the hotel where the Suttons were, in the hope of +seeing at least her brother. The guardian angel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +fought every inch of the walk with him, until he +began to wonder whether, if Miss Sutton were to +take him, the spook would forbid the banns. At +the hotel he saw no one that night, and he went +home determined to call as early as he could the +next afternoon, and make an end of it. When he +left his office about two o'clock the next day to +learn his fate, he had not walked five blocks before +he discovered that the wraith of the Duncans had +withdrawn his opposition to the suit. There was +no feeling of impending evil, no resistance, no +struggle, no consciousness of an opposing presence. +Eliphalet was greatly encouraged. He walked +briskly to the hotel; he found Miss Sutton alone. +He asked her the question, and got his answer.”</p> + +<p>“She accepted him, of course?” said Baby Van +Rensselaer.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” said Uncle Larry. “And while +they were in the first flush of joy, swapping confidences +and confessions, her brother came into the +parlor with an expression of pain on his face and a +telegram in his hand. The former was caused by +the latter, which was from Frisco, and which announced +the sudden death of Mrs. Sutton, their +mother.”</p> + +<p>“And that was why the ghost no longer opposed +the match?” questioned Dear Jones.</p> + +<p>“Exactly. You see, the family ghost knew that +Mother Gorgon was an awful obstacle to Duncan's +happiness, so it warned him. But the moment the +obstacle was removed, it gave its consent at once.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> + +<p>The fog was lowering its thick, damp curtain, +and it was beginning to be difficult to see from one +end of the boat to the other. Dear Jones tightened +the rug which enwrapped Baby Van Rensselaer, +and then withdrew again into his own substantial +coverings.</p> + +<p>Uncle Larry paused in his story long enough to +light another of the tiny cigars he always smoked.</p> + +<p>“I infer that Lord Duncan”—the Duchess was +scrupulous in the bestowal of titles—“saw no more +of the ghosts after he was married.”</p> + +<p>“He never saw them at all, at any time, either before +or since. But they came very near breaking off +the match, and thus breaking two young hearts.”</p> + +<p>“You don't mean to say that they knew any +just cause or impediment why they should not +forever after hold their peace?” asked Dear Jones.</p> + +<p>“How could a ghost, or even two ghosts, keep a +girl from marrying the man she loved?” This was +Baby Van Rensselaer's question.</p> + +<p>“It seems curious, doesn't it?” and Uncle Larry +tried to warm himself by two or three sharp pulls +at his fiery little cigar. “And the circumstances +are quite as curious as the fact itself. You see, +Miss Sutton wouldn't be married for a year after +her mother's death, so she and Duncan had lots of +time to tell each other all they knew. Eliphalet got +to know a good deal about the girls she went to +school with; and Kitty soon learned all about his +family. He didn't tell her about the title for a long +time, as he wasn't one to brag. But he described<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +to her the little old house at Salem. And one evening +towards the end of the summer, the wedding-day +having been appointed for early in September, +she told him that she didn't want a bridal tour at +all; she just wanted to go down to the little old +house at Salem to spend her honeymoon in peace +and quiet, with nothing to do and nobody to +bother them. Well, Eliphalet jumped at the suggestion: +it suited him down to the ground. All of a +sudden he remembered the spooks, and it knocked +him all of a heap. He had told her about the Duncan +banshee, and the idea of having an ancestral +ghost in personal attendance on her husband +tickled her immensely. But he had never said +anything about the ghost which haunted the little +old house at Salem. He knew she would be frightened +out of her wits if the house ghost revealed +itself to her, and he saw at once that it would be +impossible to go to Salem on their wedding trip. +So he told her all about it, and how whenever he +went to Salem the two ghosts interfered, and gave +dark séances and manifested and materialized and +made the place absolutely impossible. Kitty listened +in silence, and Eliphalet thought she had +changed her mind. But she hadn't done anything +of the kind.”</p> + +<p>“Just like a man—to think she was going to,” +remarked Baby Van Rensselaer.</p> + +<p>“She just told him she could not bear ghosts +herself, but she would not marry a man who was +afraid of them.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Just like a girl—to be so inconsistent,” remarked +Dear Jones.</p> + +<p>Uncle Larry's tiny cigar had long been extinct. +He lighted a new one, and continued: “Eliphalet +protested in vain. Kitty said her mind was made +up. She was determined to pass her honeymoon +in the little old house at Salem, and she was equally +determined not to go there as long as there were +any ghosts there. Until he could assure her that +the spectral tenant had received notice to quit, and +that there was no danger of manifestations and +materializing, she refused to be married at all. +She did not intend to have her honeymoon interrupted +by two wrangling ghosts, and the wedding +could be postponed until he had made ready +the house for her.”</p> + +<p>“She was an unreasonable young woman,” said +the Duchess.</p> + +<p>“Well, that's what Eliphalet thought, much as +he was in love with her. And he believed he could +talk her out of her determination. But he couldn't. +She was set. And when a girl is set, there's nothing +to do but to yield to the inevitable. And that's +just what Eliphalet did. He saw he would either +have to give her up or to get the ghosts out; and as +he loved her and did not care for the ghosts, he +resolved to tackle the ghosts. He had clear grit, +Eliphalet had—he was half Scotch and half Yankee +and neither breed turns tail in a hurry. So he made +his plans and he went down to Salem. As he said +good-by to Kitty he had an impression that she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +was sorry she had made him go; but she kept up +bravely, and put a bold face on it, and saw him off, +and went home and cried for an hour, and was +perfectly miserable until he came back the next +day.”</p> + +<p>“Did he succeed in driving the ghosts away?” +asked Baby Van Rensselaer, with great interest.</p> + +<p>“That's just what I'm coming to,” said Uncle +Larry, pausing at the critical moment, in the +manner of the trained story-teller. “You see, +Eliphalet had got a rather tough job, and he would +gladly have had an extension of time on the contract, +but he had to choose between the girl and +the ghosts, and he wanted the girl. He tried to +invent or remember some short and easy way with +ghosts, but he couldn't. He wished that somebody +had invented a specific for spooks—something that +would make the ghosts come out of the house and +die in the yard. He wondered if he could not tempt +the ghosts to run in debt, so that he might get the +sheriff to help him. He wondered also whether +the ghosts could not be overcome with strong +drink—a dissipated spook, a spook with delirium +tremens, might be committed to the inebriate +asylum. But none of these things seemed feasible.”</p> + +<p>“What did he do?” interrupted Dear Jones. +“The learned counsel will please speak to the +point.”</p> + +<p>“You will regret this unseemly haste,” said +Uncle Larry, gravely, “when you know what +really happened.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> + +<p>“What was it, Uncle Larry?” asked Baby Van +Rensselaer. “I'm all impatience.”</p> + +<p>And Uncle Larry proceeded:</p> + +<p>“Eliphalet went down to the little old house at +Salem, and as soon as the clock struck twelve the +rival ghosts began wrangling as before. Raps here, +there, and everywhere, ringing bells, banging tambourines, +strumming banjos sailing about the room, +and all the other manifestations and materializations +followed one another just as they had the +summer before. The only difference Eliphalet +could detect was a stronger flavor in the spectral +profanity; and this, of course, was only a vague +impression, for he did not actually hear a single +word. He waited awhile in patience, listening and +watching. Of course he never saw either of the +ghosts, because neither of them could appear to +him. At last he got his dander up, and he thought +it was about time to interfere, so he rapped on the +table, and asked for silence. As soon as he felt +that the spooks were listening to him he explained +the situation to them. He told them he was in +love, and that he could not marry unless they +vacated the house. He appealed to them as old +friends, and he laid claim to their gratitude. The +titular ghost had been sheltered by the Duncan +family for hundreds of years, and the domiciliary +ghost had had free lodging in the little old house at +Salem for nearly two centuries. He implored them +to settle their differences, and to get him out of his +difficulty at once. He suggested that they had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +better fight it out then and there, and see who was +master. He had brought down with him all needful +weapons. And he pulled out his valise, and +spread on the table a pair of navy revolvers, a pair +of shotguns, a pair of dueling-swords, and a couple +of bowie knives. He offered to serve as second for +both parties, and to give the word when to begin. +He also took out of his valise a pack of cards and a +bottle of poison, telling them that if they wished to +avoid carnage they might cut the cards to see which +one should take the poison. Then he waited anxiously +for their reply. For a little space there was +silence. Then he became conscious of a tremulous +shivering in one corner of the room, and he remembered +that he had heard from that direction +what sounded like a frightened sigh when he made +the first suggestion of the duel. Something told +him that this was the domiciliary ghost, and that +it was badly scared. Then he was impressed by a +certain movement in the opposite corner of the +room, as though the titular ghost were drawing +himself up with offended dignity. Eliphalet +couldn't exactly see those things, because he never +saw the ghosts, but he felt them. After a silence +of nearly a minute a voice came from the corner +where the family ghost stood—a voice strong and +full, but trembling slightly with suppressed passion. +And this voice told Eliphalet it was plain enough +that he had not long been the head of the Duncans, +and that he had never properly considered the +characteristics of his race if now he supposed that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +one of his blood could draw his sword against a +woman. Eliphalet said he had never suggested +that the Duncan ghost should raise his hand +against a woman, and all he wanted was that the +Duncan ghost should fight the other ghost. And +then the voice told Eliphalet that the other ghost +was a woman.”</p> + +<p>“What?” said Dear Jones, sitting up suddenly. +“You don't mean to tell me that the ghost which +haunted the house was a woman?”</p> + +<p>“Those were the very words Eliphalet Duncan +used,” said Uncle Larry; “but he did not need to +wait for the answer. All at once he recalled the +traditions about the domiciliary ghost, and he +knew that what the titular ghost said was the fact. +He had never thought of the sex of a spook, but +there was no doubt whatever that the house ghost +was a woman. No sooner was this firmly fixed in +Eliphalet's mind than he saw his way out of the +difficulty. The ghosts must be married!—for then +there would be no more interference, no more quarreling, +no more manifestations and materializations, +no more dark séances, with their raps and +bells and tambourines and banjos. At first the +ghosts would not hear of it. The voice in the +corner declared that the Duncan wraith had never +thought of matrimony. But Eliphalet argued with +them, and pleaded and pursuaded and coaxed, +and dwelt on the advantages of matrimony. He +had to confess, of course, that he did not know how +to get a clergyman to marry them; but the voice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +from the corner gravely told him that there need +be no difficulty in regard to that, as there was no +lack of spiritual chaplains. Then, for the first +time, the house ghost spoke, a low, clear, gentle +voice, and with a quaint, old-fashioned New England +accent, which contrasted sharply with the +broad Scotch speech of the family ghost. She said +that Eliphalet Duncan seemed to have forgotten +that she was married. But this did not upset Eliphalet +at all; he remembered the whole case clearly, +and he told her she was not a married ghost, but a +widow, since her husband had been hanged for +murdering her. Then the Duncan ghost drew +attention to the great disparity in their ages, saying +that he was nearly four hundred and fifty +years old, while she was barely two hundred. But +Eliphalet had not talked to juries for nothing; he +just buckled to, and coaxed those ghosts into matrimony. +Afterwards he came to the conclusion that +they were willing to be coaxed, but at the time he +thought he had pretty hard work to convince them +of the advantages of the plan.”</p> + +<p>“Did he succeed?” asked Baby Van Rensselaer, +with a woman's interest in matrimony.</p> + +<p>“He did,” said Uncle Larry. “He talked the +wraith of the Duncans and the specter of the little +old house at Salem into a matrimonial engagement. +And from the time they were engaged he had no +more trouble with them. They were rival ghosts +no longer. They were married by their spiritual +chaplain the very same day that Eliphalet Duncan<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +met Kitty Sutton in front of the railing of Grace +Church. The ghostly bride and bridegroom went +away at once on their bridal tour, and Lord and +Lady Duncan went down to the little old house at +Salem to pass their honeymoon.”</p> + +<p>Uncle Larry stopped. His tiny cigar was out +again. The tale of the rival ghosts was told. A +solemn silence fell on the little party on the deck of +the ocean steamer, broken harshly by the hoarse +roar of the fog-horn.</p> +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="THE_WATER_GHOST_OF_HARROWBY_HALL" id="THE_WATER_GHOST_OF_HARROWBY_HALL"></a>THE WATER GHOST OF HARROWBY HALL</h3> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> JOHN KENDRICK BANGS</h4> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>From <i>The Water Ghost, and other Stories</i>, by John Kendrick Bangs. +Copyright, 1904, by Harper Brothers. By permission of the +publishers and John Kendrick Bangs.</p></div> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> + +<h2>The Water Ghost of<br /> +Harrowby Hall</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> JOHN KENDRICK BANGS</h4> + + +<p>The trouble with Harrowby Hall was that it was +haunted, and, what was worse, the ghost did not +content itself with merely appearing at the bedside +of the afflicted person who saw it, but persisted in +remaining there for one mortal hour before it would +disappear.</p> + +<p>It never appeared except on Christmas Eve, and +then as the clock was striking twelve, in which +respect alone was it lacking in that originality +which in these days is a <i>sine qua non</i> of success in +spectral life. The owners of Harrowby Hall had +done their utmost to rid themselves of the damp +and dewy lady who rose up out of the best bedroom +floor at midnight, but without avail. They had +tried stopping the clock, so that the ghost would +not know when it was midnight; but she made her +appearance just the same, with that fearful miasmatic +personality of hers, and there she would +stand until everything about her was thoroughly +saturated.</p> + +<p>Then the owners of Harrowby Hall caulked up +every crack in the floor with the very best quality<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +of hemp, and over this were placed layers of tar +and canvas; the walls were made waterproof, and +the doors and windows likewise, the proprietors +having conceived the notion that the unexorcised +lady would find it difficult to leak into the room +after these precautions had been taken; but even +this did not suffice. The following Christmas Eve +she appeared as promptly as before, and frightened +the occupant of the room quite out of his senses by +sitting down alongside of him and gazing with her +cavernous blue eyes into his; and he noticed, too, +that in her long, aqueously bony fingers bits of +dripping seaweed were entwined, the ends hanging +down, and these ends she drew across his forehead +until he became like one insane. And then he +swooned away, and was found unconscious in his +bed the next morning by his host, simply saturated +with sea-water and fright, from the combined effects +of which he never recovered, dying four +years later of pneumonia and nervous prostration +at the age of seventy-eight.</p> + +<p>The next year the master of Harrowby Hall decided +not to have the best spare bedroom opened +at all, thinking that perhaps the ghost's thirst for +making herself disagreeable would be satisfied by +haunting the furniture, but the plan was as unavailing +as the many that had preceded it.</p> + +<p>The ghost appeared as usual in the room—that +is, it was supposed she did, for the hangings were +dripping wet the next morning, and in the parlor +below the haunted room a great damp spot appeared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +on the ceiling. Finding no one there, she +immediately set out to learn the reason why, and +she chose none other to haunt than the owner of +the Harrowby himself. She found him in his own +cosey room drinking whiskey—whiskey undiluted—and +felicitating himself upon having foiled her +ghost-ship, when all of a sudden the curl went out +of his hair, his whiskey bottle filled and overflowed, +and he was himself in a condition similar to that of +a man who has fallen into a water-butt. When he +recovered from the shock, which was a painful one, +he saw before him the lady of the cavernous eyes +and seaweed fingers. The sight was so unexpected +and so terrifying that he fainted, but immediately +came to, because of the vast amount of water in his +hair, which, trickling down over his face, restored +his consciousness.</p> + +<p>Now it so happened that the master of Harrowby +was a brave man, and while he was not particularly +fond of interviewing ghosts, especially such quenching +ghosts as the one before him, he was not to be +daunted by an apparition. He had paid the lady +the compliment of fainting from the effects of his +first surprise, and now that he had come to he +intended to find out a few things he felt he had a +right to know. He would have liked to put on a +dry suit of clothes first, but the apparition declined +to leave him for an instant until her hour was up, +and he was forced to deny himself that pleasure. +Every time he would move she would follow him, +with the result that everything she came in contact<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +with got a ducking. In an effort to warm himself +up he approached the fire, an unfortunate move +as it turned out, because it brought the ghost +directly over the fire, which immediately was extinguished. +The whiskey became utterly valueless +as a comforter to his chilled system, because it was +by this time diluted to a proportion of ninety per +cent of water. The only thing he could do to ward +off the evil effects of his encounter he did, and that +was to swallow ten two-grain quinine pills, which +he managed to put into his mouth before the ghost +had time to interfere. Having done this, he turned +with some asperity to the ghost, and said:</p> + +<p>“Far be it from me to be impolite to a woman, +madam, but I'm hanged if it wouldn't please me +better if you'd stop these infernal visits of yours +to this house. Go sit out on the lake, if you like +that sort of thing; soak the water-butt, if you wish; +but do not, I implore you, come into a gentleman's +house and saturate him and his possessions in this +way. It is damned disagreeable.”</p> + +<p>“Henry Hartwick Oglethorpe,” said the ghost, +in a gurgling voice, “you don't know what you are +talking about.”</p> + +<p>“Madam,” returned the unhappy householder, +“I wish that remark were strictly truthful. I +was talking about you. It would be shillings and +pence—nay, pounds, in my pocket, madam, if I +did not know you.”</p> + +<p>“That is a bit of specious nonsense,” returned +the ghost, throwing a quart of indignation into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +face of the master of Harrowby. “It may rank +high as repartee, but as a comment upon my statement +that you do not know what you are talking +about, it savors of irrelevant impertinence. You +do not know that I am compelled to haunt this +place year after year by inexorable fate. It is no +pleasure to me to enter this house, and ruin and +mildew everything I touch. I never aspired to be a +shower-bath, but it is my doom. Do you know +who I am?”</p> + +<p>“No, I don't,” returned the master of Harrowby. +“I should say you were the Lady of the +Lake, or Little Sallie Waters.”</p> + +<p>“You are a witty man for your years,” said the +ghost.</p> + +<p>“Well, my humor is drier than yours ever will +be,” returned the master.</p> + +<p>“No doubt. I'm never dry. I am the Water +Ghost of Harrowby Hall, and dryness is a quality +entirely beyond my wildest hope. I have been the +incumbent of this highly unpleasant office for two +hundred years to-night.”</p> + +<p>“How the deuce did you ever come to get +elected?” asked the master.</p> + +<p>“Through a suicide,” replied the specter. “I +am the ghost of that fair maiden whose picture +hangs over the mantelpiece in the drawing-room. +I should have been your great-great-great-great-great-aunt +if I had lived, Henry Hartwick Oglethorpe, +for I was the own sister of your great-great-great-great-grandfather.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> + +<p>“But what induced you to get this house into +such a predicament?”</p> + +<p>“I was not to blame, sir,” returned the lady. +“It was my father's fault. He it was who built +Harrowby Hall, and the haunted chamber was to +have been mine. My father had it furnished in +pink and yellow, knowing well that blue and gray +formed the only combination of color I could tolerate. +He did it merely to spite me, and, with +what I deem a proper spirit, I declined to live in the +room; whereupon my father said I could live there +or on the lawn, he didn't care which. That night +I ran from the house and jumped over the cliff into +the sea.”</p> + +<p>“That was rash,” said the master of Harrowby.</p> + +<p>“So I've heard,” returned the ghost. “If I had +known what the consequences were to be I should +not have jumped; but I really never realized what +I was doing until after I was drowned. I had been +drowned a week when a sea-nymph came to me +and informed me that I was to be one of her followers +forever afterwards, adding that it should be +my doom to haunt Harrowby Hall for one hour +every Christmas Eve throughout the rest of eternity. +I was to haunt that room on such Christmas +Eves as I found it inhabited; and if it should turn +out not to be inhabited, I was and am to spend the +allotted hour with the head of the house.”</p> + +<p>“I'll sell the place.”</p> + +<p>“That you cannot do, for it is also required of +me that I shall appear as the deeds are to be delivered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +to any purchaser, and divulge to him the +awful secret of the house.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean to tell me that on every Christmas +Eve that I don't happen to have somebody in +that guest-chamber, you are going to haunt me +wherever I may be, ruining my whiskey, taking all +the curl out of my hair, extinguishing my fire, and +soaking me through to the skin?” demanded the +master.</p> + +<p>“You have stated the case, Oglethorpe. And +what is more,” said the water ghost, “it doesn't +make the slightest difference where you are, if I +find that room empty, wherever you may be I shall +douse you with my spectral pres——”</p> + +<p>Here the clock struck one, and immediately the +apparition faded away. It was perhaps more of a +trickle than a fade, but as a disappearance it was +complete.</p> + +<p>“By St. George and his Dragon!” ejaculated the +master of Harrowby, wringing his hands. “It is +guineas to hot-cross buns that next Christmas +there's an occupant of the spare room, or I spend +the night in a bathtub.”</p> + +<p>But the master of Harrowby would have lost +his wager had there been anyone there to take him +up, for when Christmas Eve came again he was in +his grave, never having recovered from the cold +contracted that awful night. Harrowby Hall was +closed, and the heir to the estate was in London, +where to him in his chambers came the same experience +that his father had gone through, saving<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +only that, being younger and stronger, he survived +the shock. Everything in his rooms was ruined—his +clocks were rusted in the works; a fine collection +of water-color drawings was entirely obliterated +by the onslaught of the water ghost; and what was +worse, the apartments below his were drenched +with the water soaking through the floors, a +damage for which he was compelled to pay, and +which resulted in his being requested by his landlady +to vacate the premises immediately.</p> + +<p>The story of the visitation inflicted upon his +family had gone abroad, and no one could be got +to invite him out to any function save afternoon +teas and receptions. Fathers of daughters declined +to permit him to remain in their houses later +than eight o'clock at night, not knowing but that +some emergency might arise in the supernatural +world which would require the unexpected appearance +of the water ghost in this on nights other than +Christmas Eve, and before the mystic hour when +weary churchyards, ignoring the rules which are +supposed to govern polite society, begin to yawn. +Nor would the maids themselves have aught to do +with him, fearing the destruction by the sudden +incursion of aqueous femininity of the costumes +which they held most dear.</p> + +<p>So the heir of Harrowby Hall resolved, as his +ancestors for several generations before him had +resolved, that something must be done. His first +thought was to make one of his servants occupy +the haunted room at the crucial moment; but in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +this he failed, because the servants themselves +knew the history of that room and rebelled. None +of his friends would consent to sacrifice their personal +comfort to his, nor was there to be found in +all England a man so poor as to be willing to occupy +the doomed chamber on Christmas Eve for pay.</p> + +<p>Then the thought came to the heir to have the +fireplace in the room enlarged, so that he might +evaporate the ghost at its first appearance, and he +was felicitating himself upon the ingenuity of his +plan, when he remembered what his father had +told him—how that no fire could withstand the +lady's extremely contagious dampness. And then +he bethought him of steam-pipes. These, he remembered, +could lie hundreds of feet deep in water, +and still retain sufficient heat to drive the water +away in vapor; and as a result of this thought the +haunted room was heated by steam to a withering +degree, and the heir for six months attended daily +the Turkish baths, so that when Christmas Eve +came he could himself withstand the awful temperature +of the room.</p> + +<p>The scheme was only partially successful. The +water ghost appeared at the specified time, and +found the heir of Harrowby prepared; but hot as +the room was, it shortened her visit by no more +than five minutes in the hour, during which time +the nervous system of the young master was well-nigh +shattered, and the room itself was cracked +and warped to an extent which required the outlay +of a large sum of money to remedy. And worse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +than this, as the last drop of the water ghost was +slowly sizzling itself out on the floor, she whispered +to her would-be conqueror that his scheme would +avail him nothing, because there was still water in +great plenty where she came from, and that next +year would find her rehabilitated and as exasperatingly +saturating as ever.</p> + +<p>It was then that the natural action of the mind, +in going from one extreme to the other, suggested +to the ingenious heir of Harrowby the means by +which the water ghost was ultimately conquered, +and happiness once more came within the grasp +of the house of Oglethorpe.</p> + +<p>The heir provided himself with a warm suit of +fur under-clothing. Donning this with the furry +side in, he placed over it a rubber garment, tight-fitting, +which he wore just as a woman wears a +jersey. On top of this he placed another set of +under-clothing, this suit made of wool, and over +this was a second rubber garment like the first. +Upon his head he placed a light and comfortable +diving helmet, and so clad, on the following Christmas +Eve he awaited the coming of his tormentor.</p> + +<p>It was a bitterly cold night that brought to a +close this twenty-fourth day of December. The +air outside was still, but the temperature was below +zero. Within all was quiet, the servants of +Harrowby Hall awaiting with beating hearts the +outcome of their master's campaign against his +supernatural visitor.</p> + +<p>The master himself was lying on the bed in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +haunted room, clad as has already been indicated, +and then——</p> + +<p>The clock clanged out the hour of twelve.</p> + +<p>There was a sudden banging of doors, a blast of +cold air swept through the halls, the door leading +into the haunted chamber flew open, a splash was +heard, and the water ghost was seen standing at the +side of the heir of Harrowby, from whose outer +dress there streamed rivulets of water, but whose +own person deep down under the various garments +he wore was as dry and as warm as he could have +wished.</p> + +<p>“Ha!” said the young master of Harrowby. +“I'm glad to see you.”</p> + +<p>“You are the most original man I've met, if +that is true,” returned the ghost. “May I ask +where did you get that hat?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, madam,” returned the master, courteously. +“It is a little portable observatory I had +made for just such emergencies as this. But, tell +me, is it true that you are doomed to follow me +about for one mortal hour—to stand where I stand, +to sit where I sit?”</p> + +<p>“That is my delectable fate,” returned the lady.</p> + +<p>“We'll go out on the lake,” said the master, +starting up.</p> + +<p>“You can't get rid of me that way,” returned the +ghost. “The water won't swallow me up; in fact, +it will just add to my present bulk.”</p> + +<p>“Nevertheless,” said the master, firmly, “we +will go out on the lake.”</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> + +<p>“But, my dear sir,” returned the ghost, with a +pale reluctance, “it is fearfully cold out there. +You will be frozen hard before you've been out ten +minutes.”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, I'll not,” replied the master. “I am +very warmly dressed. Come!” This last in a tone +of command that made the ghost ripple.</p> + +<p>And they started.</p> + +<p>They had not gone far before the water ghost +showed signs of distress.</p> + +<p>“You walk too slowly,” she said. “I am nearly +frozen. My knees are so stiff now I can hardly +move. I beseech you to accelerate your step.”</p> + +<p>“I should like to oblige a lady,” returned the +master, courteously, “but my clothes are rather +heavy, and a hundred yards an hour is about my +speed. Indeed, I think we would better sit down +here on this snowdrift, and talk matters over.”</p> + +<p>“Do not! Do not do so, I beg!” cried the ghost. +“Let me move on. I feel myself growing rigid as +it is. If we stop here, I shall be frozen stiff.”</p> + +<p>“That, madam,” said the master slowly, and +seating himself on an ice-cake—“that is why I +have brought you here. We have been on this +spot just ten minutes; we have fifty more. Take +your time about it, madam, but freeze, that is all +I ask of you.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot move my right leg now,” cried the +ghost, in despair, “and my overskirt is a solid sheet +of ice. Oh, good, kind Mr. Oglethorpe, light a fire, +and let me go free from these icy fetters.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Never, madam. It cannot be. I have you +at last.”</p> + +<p>“Alas!” cried the ghost, a tear trickling down +her frozen cheek. “Help me, I beg. I congeal!”</p> + +<p>“Congeal, madam, congeal!” returned Oglethorpe, +coldly. “You have drenched me and mine +for two hundred and three years, madam. To-night +you have had your last drench.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, but I shall thaw out again, and then you'll +see. Instead of the comfortably tepid, genial +ghost I have been in my past, sir, I shall be iced-water,” +cried the lady, threateningly.</p> + +<p>“No, you won't, either,” returned Oglethorpe; +“for when you are frozen quite stiff, I shall send +you to a cold-storage warehouse, and there shall +you remain an icy work of art forever more.”</p> + +<p>“But warehouses burn.”</p> + +<p>“So they do, but this warehouse cannot burn. +It is made of asbestos and surrounding it are fireproof +walls, and within those walls the temperature +is now and shall forever be 416 degrees below the +zero point; low enough to make an icicle of any +flame in this world—or the next,” the master +added, with an ill-suppressed chuckle.</p> + +<p>“For the last time let me beseech you. I would +go on my knees to you, Oglethorpe, were they not +already frozen. I beg of you do not doo——”</p> + +<p>Here even the words froze on the water-ghost's +lips and the clock struck one. There was a +momentary tremor throughout the ice-bound form, +and the moon, coming out from behind a cloud,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +shone down on the rigid figure of a beautiful woman +sculptured in clear, transparent ice. There stood +the ghost of Harrowby Hall, conquered by the +cold, a prisoner for all time.</p> + +<p>The heir of Harrowby had won at last, and to-day +in a large storage house in London stands the +frigid form of one who will never again flood the +house of Oglethorpe with woe and sea-water.</p> + +<p>As for the heir of Harrowby, his success in coping +with a ghost has made him famous, a fame that +still lingers about him, although his victory took +place some twenty years ago; and so far from being +unpopular with the fair sex, as he was when we first +knew him, he has not only been married twice, but +is to lead a third bride to the altar before the year +is out.</p> +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="BACK_FROM_THAT_BOURNE" id="BACK_FROM_THAT_BOURNE"></a>BACK FROM THAT BOURNE</h3> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> +<h4>ANONYMOUS</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>From the New York <i>Sun</i>. By permission of the editor.</p></div> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> + +<h2>Back from That Bourne</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> +<h4>ANONYMOUS</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><i>Practical Working of Materialization in Maine. A +Strange Story from Pocock Island—A Materialized +Spirit that Will not Go back. The First Glimpse +of what May yet Cause very Extensive Trouble in +this World.</i></p></div> + +<center>(The <i>Sun</i>, Saturday, December 19, 1874.)</center> + + +<p>We are permitted to make extracts from a +private letter which bears the signature of a gentleman +well known in business circles, and whose +veracity we have never heard called in question. +His statements are startling and well-nigh incredible, +but if true, they are susceptible of easy verification. +Yet the thoughtful mind will hesitate +about accepting them without the fullest proof, +for they spring upon the world a social problem +of stupendous importance. The dangers apprehended +by Mr. Malthus and his followers become +remote and commonplace by the side of this new +and terrible issue.</p> + +<p>The letter is dated at Pocock Island, a small +township in Washington County, Maine, about +seventeen miles from the mainland and nearly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +midway between Mt. Desert and the Grand +Menan. The last state census accords to Pocock +Island a population of 311, mostly engaged in the +porgy fisheries. At the Presidential election of +1872 the island gave Grant a majority of three. +These two facts are all that we are able to learn +of the locality from sources outside of the letter +already referred to.</p> + +<p>The letter, omitting certain passages which refer +solely to private matters, reads as follows:</p> + +<p>“But enough of the disagreeable business that +brought me here to this bleak island in the month +of November. I have a singular story to tell you. +After our experience together at Chittenden I +know you will not reject statements because they +are startling.</p> + +<p>“My friend, there is upon Pocock Island a +materialized spirit which (or who) refuses to be +dematerialized. At this moment and within a +quarter of a mile from me as I write, a man who +died and was buried four years ago, and who has +exploited the mysteries beyond the grave, walks, +talks, and holds interviews with the inhabitants of +the island, and is, to all appearances, determined +to remain permanently upon this side of the river. +I will relate the circumstances as briefly as I can.”</p> + + +<h4>JOHN NEWBEGIN</h4> + +<p>“In April, 1870, John Newbegin died and was +buried in the little cemetery on the landward side<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +of the island. Newbegin was a man of about +forty-eight, without family or near connections, +and eccentric to a degree that sometimes inspired +questions as to his sanity. What money he had +earned by many seasons' fishing upon the banks +was invested in quarters of two small mackerel +schooners, the remainder of which belonged to +John Hodgeson, the richest man on Pocock, who +was estimated by good authorities to be worth +thirteen or fourteen thousand dollars.</p> + +<p>“Newbegin was not without a certain kind of +culture. He had read a good deal of the odds and +ends of literature and, as a simple-minded islander +expressed it in my hearing, knew more bookfuls +than anybody on the island. He was naturally +an intelligent man; and he might have attained +influence in the community had it not been +for his utter aimlessness of character, his indifference +to fortune, and his consuming thirst for +rum.</p> + +<p>“Many yachtsmen who have had occasion to +stop at Pocock for water or for harbor shelter during +eastern cruises, will remember a long, listless +figure, astonishingly attired in blue army pants, +rubber boots, loose toga made of some bright chintz +material, and very bad hat, staggering through the +little settlement, followed by a rabble of jeering +brats, and pausing to strike uncertain blows at +those within reach of the dead sculpin which he +usually carried round by the tail. This was John +Newbegin.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>HIS SUDDEN DEATH</h4> + +<p>“As I have already remarked, he died four years +ago last April. The <i>Mary Emmeline</i>, one of the +little schooners in which he owned, had returned +from the eastward, and had smuggled, or 'run in' +a quantity of St. John brandy. Newbegin had a +solitary and protracted debauch. He was missed +from his accustomed walks for several days, and +when the islanders broke into the hovel where he +lived, close down to the seaweed and almost within +reach of the incoming tide, they found him dead on +the floor, with an emptied demijohn hard by his +head.</p> + +<p>“After the primitive custom of the island, they +interred John Newbegin's remains without coroner's +inquest, burial certificate, or funeral services, +and in the excitement of a large catch of porgies +that summer, soon forgot him and his friendless +life. His interest in the <i>Mary Emmeline</i> and the +<i>Prettyboat</i> recurred to John Hodgeson; and as nobody +came forward to demand an administration +of the estate, it was never administered. The +forms of law are but loosely followed in some of +these marginal localities.”</p> + + +<h4>HIS REAPPEARANCE AT POCOCK</h4> + +<p>“Well, my dear ——, four years and four +months had brought their quota of varying seasons +to Pocock Island when John Newbegin reappeared +under the following circumstances:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> + +<p>“In the latter part of last August, as you may +remember, there was a heavy gale all along our +Atlantic coast. During this storm the squadron of +the Naugatuck Yacht Club, which was returning +from a summer cruise as far as Campobello, was +forced to take shelter in the harbor to the leeward +of Pocock Island. The gentlemen of the club +spent three days at the little settlement ashore. +Among the party was Mr. R—— E——, by which +name you will recognize a medium of celebrity, and +one who has been particularly successful in materializations. +At the desire of his companions, and to +relieve the tedium of their detention, Mr. E—— +improvised a cabinet in the little schoolhouse at +Pocock, and gave a <i>séance</i>, to the delight of his +fellow yachtsmen and the utter bewilderment of +such natives as were permitted to witness the +manifestations.</p> + +<p>“The conditions appeared unusually favorable +to spirit appearances and the <i>séance</i> was upon the +whole perhaps the most remarkable that Mr. E—— +ever held. It was all the more remarkable because +the surroundings were such that the most prejudiced +skeptic could discover no possibility of +trickery.</p> + +<p>“The first form to issue from the wood closet +which constituted the cabinet, when Mr. E—— +had been tied therein by a committee of old sailors +from the yachts, was that of an Indian chief who +announced himself as Hock-a-mock, and who retired +after dancing a 'Harvest Moon' <i>pas seul</i>,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +and declaring himself in very emphatic terms, as +opposed to the present Indian policy of the Administration. +Hock-a-mock was succeeded by the +aunt of one of the yachtsmen, who identified herself +beyond question by allusion to family matters +and by displaying the scar of a burn upon her left +arm, received while making tomato catsup upon +earth. Then came successively a child whom none +present recognized, a French Canadian who could +not talk English, and a portly gentleman who introduced +himself as William King, first Governor +of Maine. These in turn reëntered the cabinet +and were seen no more.</p> + +<p>“It was some time before another spirit manifested +itself, and Mr. E—— gave directions that +the lights be turned down still further. Then the +door of the wood closet was slowly opened and a +singular figure in rubber boots and a species of +Dolly Varden garment emerged, bringing a dead +fish in his right hand.”</p> + + +<h4>HIS DETERMINATION TO REMAIN</h4> + +<p>“The city men who were present, I am told, +thought that the medium was masquerading in +grotesque habiliments for the more complete astonishment +of the islanders, but these latter rose +from their seats and exclaimed with one consent: +'It is John Newbegin!' And then, in not unnatural +terror of the apparition they turned and fled from +the schoolroom, uttering dismal cries.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> + +<p>“John Newbegin came calmly forward and +turned up the solitary kerosene lamp that shed uncertain +light over the proceedings. He then sat +down in the teacher's chair, folded his arms, and +looked complacently about him.</p> + +<p>“'You might as well untie the medium,' he +finally remarked. 'I propose to remain in the +materialized condition.'</p> + +<p>“And he did remain. When the party left the +schoolhouse among them walked John Newbegin, +as truly a being of flesh and blood as any man of +them. From that day to this, he has been a living +inhabitant of Pocock Island, eating, drinking, +(water only) and sleeping after the manner of men. +The yachtsmen who made sail for Bar Harbor the +very next morning, probably believe that he was a +fraud hired for the occasion by Mr. E——. But +the people of Pocock, who laid him out, dug his +grave, and put him into it four years ago, know that +John Newbegin has come back to them from a land +they know not of.”</p> + + +<h4>A SINGULAR MEMBER OF SOCIETY</h4> + +<p>“The idea, of having a ghost—somewhat more +condensed it is true than the traditional ghost—as +a member was not at first overpleasing to the 311 +inhabitants of Pocock Island. To this day, they +are a little sensitive upon the subject, feeling evidently +that if the matter got abroad, it might injure +the sale of the really excellent porgy oil which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +is the product of their sole manufacturing interest. +This reluctance to advertise the skeleton in their +closet, superadded to the slowness of these obtuse, +fishy, matter-of-fact people to recognize the transcendent +importance of the case, must be accepted +as explanation of the fact that John Newbegin's +spirit has been on earth between three and four +months, and yet the singular circumstance is not +known to the whole country.</p> + +<p>“But the Pocockians have at last come to see +that a spirit is not necessarily a malevolent spirit, +and accepting his presence as a fact in their stolid, +unreasoning way, they are quite neighborly and +sociable with Mr. Newbegin.</p> + +<p>“I know that your first question will be: 'Is +there sufficient proof of his ever having been dead?' +To this I answer unhesitatingly, 'Yes.' He was +too well-known a character and too many people +saw the corpse to admit of any mistake on this +point. I may add here that it was at one time +proposed to disinter the original remains, but that +project was abandoned in deference to the wishes +of Mr. Newbegin, who feels a natural delicacy +about having his first set of bones disturbed from +motives of mere curiosity.”</p> + + +<h4>AN INTERVIEW WITH A DEAD MAN</h4> + +<p>“You will readily believe that I took occasion to +see and converse with John Newbegin. I found +him affable and even communicative. He is perfectly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +aware of his doubtful status as a being, but +is in hopes that at some future time there may be +legislation that shall correctly define his position +and the position of any spirit who may follow him +into the material world. The only point upon +which he is reticent is his experience during the +four years that elapsed between his death and his +reappearance at Pocock. It is to be presumed that +the memory is not a pleasant one: at least he never +speaks of this period. He candidly admits, however, +that he is glad to get back to earth and that +he embraced the very first opportunity to be +materialized.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Newbegin says that he is consumed with +remorse for the wasted years of his previous existence. +Indeed, his conduct during the past three +months would show that this regret is genuine. +He has discarded his eccentric costume, and dresses +like a reasonable spirit. He has not touched liquor +since his reappearance. He has embarked in the +porgy oil business, and his operations already rival +that of Hodgeson, his old partner in the <i>Mary +Emmeline</i> and the <i>Prettyboat</i>. By the way, Newbegin +threatens to sue Hodgeson for his individed +quarter in each of these vessels, and this interesting +case therefore bids fair to be thoroughly investigated +in the courts.</p> + +<p>“As a business man, he is generally esteemed on +the Island, although there is a noticeable reluctance +to discount his paper at long dates. In short, +Mr. John Newbegin is a most respectable citizen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +(if a dead man can be a citizen) and has announced +his intention of running for the next Legislature!”</p> + + +<h4>IN CONCLUSION</h4> + +<p>“And now, my dear ——, I have told you the +substance of all I know respecting this strange, +strange case. Yet, after all, why so strange? We +accepted materialization at Chittenden. Is this +any more than the logical issue of that admission? +If the spirit may return to earth, clothed in flesh +and blood and all the physical attributes of humanity, +why may it not remain on earth as long as it +sees fit?</p> + +<p>“Thinking of it from whatever standpoint, I +cannot but regard John Newbegin as the pioneer +of a possibly large immigration from the spirit +world. The bars once down, a whole flock will +come trooping back to earth. Death will lose its +significance altogether. And when I think of the +disturbance which will result in our social relations, +of the overthrow of all accepted institutions, and +of the nullification of all principles of political +economy, law, and religion, I am lost in perplexity +and apprehension.”</p> +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="THE_GHOST-SHIP" id="THE_GHOST-SHIP"></a>THE GHOST-SHIP</h3> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> RICHARD MIDDLETON</h4> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>From <i>The Ghost-Ship</i> by Richard Middleton. Published by +permission of Mitchell Kennerley, and taken from the volume, +<i>The Ghost-Ship and Other Stories</i>.</p></div> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>The Ghost-Ship</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> RICHARD MIDDLETON</h4> + + +<p>Fairfield is a little village lying near the Portsmouth +Road, about halfway between London and +the sea. Strangers, who now and then find it by +accident, call it a pretty, old-fashioned place; we +who live in it and call it home don't find anything +very pretty about it, but we should be sorry to +live anywhere else. Our minds have taken the +shape of the inn and the church and the green, I +suppose. At all events, we never feel comfortable +out of Fairfield.</p> + +<p>Of course the cockneys, with their vasty houses +and noise-ridden streets, can call us rustics if they +choose; but for all that, Fairfield is a better place +to live in than London. Doctor says that when he +goes to London his mind is bruised with the weight +of the houses, and he was a cockney born. He had +to live there himself when he was a little chap, but +he knows better now. You gentlemen may laugh—perhaps +some of you come from London-way,—but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +it seems to me that a witness like that is worth +a gallon of arguments.</p> + +<p>Dull? Well, you might find it dull, but I assure +you that I've listened to all the London yarns you +have spun to-night, and they're absolutely nothing +to the things that happen at Fairfield. It's because +of our way of thinking, and minding our own business. +If one of your Londoners was set down on +the green of a Saturday night when the ghosts of +the lads who died in the war keep tryst with the +lasses who lie in the churchyard, he couldn't help +being curious and interfering, and then the ghosts +would go somewhere where it was quieter. But we +just let them come and go and don't make any fuss, +and in consequence Fairfield is the ghostiest place +in all England. Why, I've seen a headless man +sitting on the edge of the well in broad daylight, +and the children playing about his feet as if he +were their father. Take my word for it, spirits +know when they are well off as much as human +beings.</p> + +<p>Still, I must admit that the thing I'm going to +tell you about was queer even for our part of the +world, where three packs of ghost-hounds hunt +regularly during the season, and blacksmith's +great-grandfather is busy all night shoeing the +dead gentlemen's horses. Now that's a thing that +wouldn't happen in London, because of their interfering +ways; but blacksmith he lies up aloft and +sleeps as quiet as a lamb. Once when he had a bad +head he shouted down to them not to make so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +much noise, and in the morning he found an old +guinea left on the anvil as an apology. He wears +it on his watch-chain now. But I must get on with +my story; if I start telling you about the queer happenings +at Fairfield, I'll never stop.</p> + +<p>It all came of the great storm in the spring of '97, +the year that we had two great storms. This was +the first one, and I remember it well, because I +found in the morning that it had lifted the thatch +of my pigsty into the widow's garden as clean as a +boy's kite. When I looked over the hedge, widow—Tom +Lamport's widow that was—was prodding +for her nasturtiums with a daisy grubber. After +I had watched her for a little I went down to the +Fox and Grapes to tell landlord what she had said +to me. Landlord he laughed, being a married man +and at ease with the sex. “Come to that,” he +said, “the tempest has blowed something into my +field. A kind of a ship I think it would be.”</p> + +<p>I was surprised at that until he explained that +it was only a ghost-ship, and would do no hurt to +the turnips. We argued that it had been blown +up from the sea at Portsmouth, and then we talked +of something else. There were two slates down at +the parsonage and a big tree in Lumley's meadow. +It was a rare storm.</p> + +<p>I reckon the wind had blown our ghosts all over +England. They were coming back for days afterward +with foundered horses, and as footsore as +possible, and they were so glad to get back to Fairfield +that some of them walked up the street crying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +like little children. Squire said that his great-grandfather's +great-grandfather hadn't looked so +dead-beat since the battle of Naseby, and he's an +educated man.</p> + +<p>What with one thing and another, I should think +it was a week before we got straight again, and then +one afternoon I met the landlord on the green, and +he had a worried face. “I wish you'd come and +have a look at that ship in my field,” he said to me. +“It seems to me it's leaning real hard on the turnips. +I can't bear thinking what the missus will +say when she sees it.”</p> + +<p>I walked down the lane with him, and, sure +enough, there was a ship in the middle of his field, +but such a ship as no man had seen on the water +for three hundred years, let alone in the middle of a +turnipfield. It was all painted black, and covered +with carvings, and there was a great bay-window +in the stern, for all the world like the squire's drawing-room. +There was a crowd of little black cannon +on deck and looking out of her port-holes, and she +was anchored at each end to the hard ground. I +have seen the wonders of the world on picture-postcards, +but I have never seen anything to equal +that.</p> + +<p>“She seems very solid for a ghost-ship,” I said, +seeing that landlord was bothered.</p> + +<p>“I should say it's a betwixt and between,” he +answered, puzzling it over; “but it's going to spoil +a matter of fifty turnips, and missus she'll want it +moved.” We went up to her and touched the side,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +and it was as hard as a real ship. “Now, there's +folks in England would call that very curious,” he +said.</p> + +<p>Now, I don't know much about ships, but I +should think that that ghost-ship weighed a solid +two hundred tons, and it seemed to me that she had +come to stay; so that I felt sorry for landlord, who +was a married man. “All the horses in Fairfield +won't move her out of my turnips,” he said, frowning +at her.</p> + +<p>Just then we heard a noise on her deck, and we +looked up and saw that a man had come out of her +front cabin and was looking down at us very peaceably. +He was dressed in a black uniform set off +with rusty gold lace, and he had a great cutlass by +his side in a brass sheath. “I'm Captain Bartholomew +Roberts,” he said in a gentleman's voice, +“put in for recruits. I seem to have brought her +rather far up the harbor.”</p> + +<p>“Harbor!” cried landlord. “Why, you're fifty +miles from the sea!”</p> + +<p>Captain Roberts didn't turn a hair. “So much +as that, is it?” he said coolly. “Well, it's of no +consequence.”</p> + +<p>Landlord was a bit upset at this. “I don't want +to be unneighborly,” he said, “but I wish you +hadn't brought your ship into my field. You see, +my wife sets great store on these turnips.”</p> + +<p>The captain took a pinch of snuff out of a fine +gold box that he pulled out of his pocket, and +dusted his fingers with a silk handkerchief in a very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +genteel fashion. “I'm only here for a few months,” +he said, “but if a testimony of my esteem would +pacify your good lady, I should be content,” and +with the words he loosed a great gold brooch from +the neck of his coat and tossed it down to landlord.</p> + +<p>Landlord blushed as red as a strawberry. “I'm +not denying she's fond of jewelry,” he said; “but +it's too much for half a sackful of turnips.” Indeed +it was a handsome brooch.</p> + +<p>The captain laughed. “Tut, man!” he said, +“it's a forced sale, and you deserve a good price. +Say no more about it,” and nodding good day to +us, he turned on his heel and went into the cabin. +Landlord walked back up the lane like a man with +a weight off his mind. “That tempest has blowed +me a bit of luck,” he said; “the missus will be main +pleased with that brooch. It's better than blacksmith's +guinea any day.”</p> + +<p>'97 was Jubilee year—the year of the second +Jubilee, you remember, and we had great doings at +Fairfield, so that we hadn't much time to bother +about the ghost-ship, though, anyhow, it isn't our +way to meddle in things that don't concern us. +Landlord he saw his tenant once or twice when he +was hoeing his turnips, and passed the time of day +and landlord's wife wore her new brooch to church +every Sunday. But we didn't mix much with the +ghosts at any time, all except an idiot lad there was +in the village, and he didn't know the difference +between a man and a ghost, poor innocent! On +Jubilee day, however, somebody told Captain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +Roberts why the church bells were ringing, and he +hoisted a flag and fired off his guns like a loyal +Englishman. 'T is true the guns were shotted, and +one of the round shot knocked a hole in Farmer +Johnstone's barn, but nobody thought much of +that in such a season of rejoicing.</p> + +<p>It wasn't till our celebrations were over that +we noticed that anything was wrong in Fairfield. +'T was shoemaker who told me first about it one +morning at the Fox and Grapes. “You know my +great-great-uncle?” he said to me.</p> + +<p>“You mean Joshua, the quiet lad?” I answered, +knowing him well.</p> + +<p>“Quiet!” said shoemaker, indignantly. “Quiet +you call him, coming home at three o'clock every +morning as drunk as a magistrate and waking up +the whole house with his noise!”</p> + +<p>“Why, it can't be Joshua,” I said, for I knew +him for one of the most respectable young ghosts +in the village.</p> + +<p>“Joshua it is,” said shoemaker; “and one of +these nights he'll find himself out in the street if +he isn't careful.”</p> + +<p>This kind of talk shocked me, I can tell you, for +I don't like to hear a man abusing his own family, +and I could hardly believe that a steady youngster +like Joshua had taken to drink. But just then in +came butcher Aylwin in such a temper that he +could hardly drink his beer. “The young puppy! +The young puppy!” he kept on saying, and it was +some time before shoemaker and I found out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +that he was talking about his ancestor that fell at +Senlac.</p> + +<p>“Drink?” said shoemaker, hopefully, for we all +like company in our misfortunes, and butcher +nodded grimly. “The young noodle!” he said, +emptying his tankard.</p> + +<p>Well, after that I kept my ears open, and it was +the same story all over the village. There was +hardly a young man among all the ghosts of Fairfield +who didn't roll home in the small hours of the +morning the worse for liquor. I used to wake up +in the night and hear them stumble past my house, +singing outrageous songs. The worst of it was that +we couldn't keep the scandal to ourselves, and the +folk at Greenhill began to talk of “sodden Fairfield” +and taught their children to sing a song +about us:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sodden Fairfield, sodden Fairfield,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has no use for bread and butter,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rum for breakfast, rum for dinner,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rum for tea, and rum for supper!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>We are easy-going in our village, but we didn't like +that.</p> + +<p>Of course we soon found out where the young +fellows went to get the drink, and landlord was +terribly cut up that his tenant should have turned +out so badly; but his wife wouldn't hear of parting +with the brooch, so he couldn't give the captain +notice to quit. But as time went on, things grew +from bad to worse, and at all hours of the day you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +would see those young reprobates sleeping it off on +the village green. Nearly every afternoon a ghost-wagon +used to jolt down to the ship with a lading +of rum, and though the older ghosts seemed inclined +to give the captain's hospitality the go-by, +the youngsters were neither to hold nor to bind.</p> + +<p>So one afternoon when I was taking my nap, I +heard a knock at the door, and there was parson, +looking very serious, like a man with a job before +him that he didn't altogether relish.</p> + +<p>“I'm going down to talk to the captain about all +this drunkenness in the village, and I want you to +come with me,” he said straight out.</p> + +<p>I can't say that I fancied the visit much myself, +and I tried to hint to parson that as, after all, they +were only a lot of ghosts, it didn't much matter.</p> + +<p>“Dead or alive, I'm responsible for their good +conduct,” he said, “and I'm going to do my duty +and put a stop to this continued disorder. And you +are coming with me, John Simmons.”</p> + +<p>So I went, parson being a persuasive kind of +man.</p> + +<p>We went down to the ship, and as we approached +her, I could see the captain tasting the air on deck. +When he saw parson, he took off his hat very +politely, and I can tell you that I was relieved to +find that he had a proper respect for the cloth. +Parson acknowledged his salute, and spoke out +stoutly enough.</p> + +<p>“Sir, I should be glad to have a word with you.”</p> + +<p>“Come on board, sir; come on board,” said the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +captain, and I could tell by his voice that he knew +why we were there.</p> + +<p>Parson and I climbed up an uneasy kind of +ladder, and the captain took us into the great cabin +at the back of the ship, where the bay-window was. +It was the most wonderful place you ever saw in +your life, all full of gold and silver plate, swords +with jeweled scabbards, carved oak chairs, and +great chests that looked as though they were bursting +with guineas. Even parson was surprised, and +he did not shake his head very hard when the +captain took down some silver cups and poured us +out a drink of rum. I tasted mine, and I don't +mind saying that it changed my view of things +entirely. There was nothing betwixt and between +about that rum, and I felt that it was ridiculous to +blame the lads for drinking too much of stuff like +that. It seemed to fill my veins with honey and fire.</p> + +<p>Parson put the case squarely to the captain, but +I didn't listen much to what he said. I was busy +sipping my drink and looking through the window +at the fishes swimming to and fro over landlord's +turnips. Just then it seemed the most natural +thing in the world that they should be there, +though afterward, of course, I could see that that +proved it was a ghost-ship.</p> + +<p>But even then I thought it was queer when I +saw a drowned sailor float by in the thin air, with +his hair and beard all full of bubbles. It was the +first time I had seen anything quite like that at +Fairfield.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> + +<p>All the time I was regarding the wonders of the +deep, parson was telling Captain Roberts how +there was no peace or rest in the village owing to +the curse of drunkenness, and what a bad example +the youngsters were setting to the older ghosts. +The captain listened very attentively, and put in a +word only now and then about boys being boys and +young men sowing their wild oats. But when parson +had finished his speech, he filled up our silver +cups and said to parson with a flourish:</p> + +<p>“I should be sorry to cause trouble anywhere +where I have been made welcome, and you will be +glad to hear that I put to sea to-morrow night. +And now you must drink me a prosperous voyage.”</p> + +<p>So we all stood up and drank the toast with +honor, and that noble rum was like hot oil in my +veins.</p> + +<p>After that, captain showed us some of the curiosities +he had brought back from foreign parts, +and we were greatly amazed, though afterward I +couldn't clearly remember what they were. And +then I found myself walking across the turnips +with parson, and I was telling him of the glories +of the deep that I had seen through the window of +the ship. He turned on me severely.</p> + +<p>“If I were you, John Simmons,” he said, “I +should go straight home to bed.” He has a way of +putting things that wouldn't occur to an ordinary +man, has parson, and I did as he told me.</p> + +<p>Well, next day it came on to blow, and it blew +harder and harder, till about eight o'clock at night<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +I heard a noise and looked out into the garden. I +dare say you won't believe me,—it seems a bit tall +even to me,—but the wind had lifted the thatch +of my pigsty into the widow's garden a second +time. I thought I wouldn't wait to hear what +widow had to say about it, so I went across the +green to the Fox and Grapes, and the wind was so +strong that I danced along on tiptoe like a girl at +the fair. When I got to the inn, landlord had to +help me shut the door. It seemed as though a +dozen goats were pushing against it to come in +out of the storm.</p> + +<p>“It's a powerful tempest,” he said, drawing the +beer. “I hear there's a chimney down at Dickory +End.”</p> + +<p>“It's a funny thing how these sailors know about +the weather,” I answered. “When captain said +he was going to-night, I was thinking it would take +a capful of wind to carry the ship back to sea; and +now here's more than a capful.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes,” said landlord; “it's to-night he goes +true enough, and mind you, though he treated me +handsome over the rent, I'm not sure it's a loss to +the village. I don't hold with gentrice, who fetch +their drink from London instead of helping local +traders to get their living.”</p> + +<p>“But you haven't got any rum like his,” I said, +to draw him out.</p> + +<p>His neck grew red above his collar, and I was +afraid I'd gone too far; but after a while he got his +breath with a grunt.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> + +<p>“John Simmons,” he said, “if you've come +down here this windy night to talk a lot of fool's +talk, you've wasted a journey.”</p> + +<p>Well, of course then I had to smooth him down +with praising his rum, and Heaven forgive me for +swearing it was better than captain's. For the +like of that rum no living lips have tasted save +mine and parson's. But somehow or other I +brought landlord round, and presently we must +have a glass of his best to prove its quality.</p> + +<p>“Beat that if you can,” he cried, and we both +raised our glasses to our mouths, only to stop halfway +and look at each other in amaze. For the +wind that had been howling outside like an outrageous +dog had all of a sudden turned as melodious +as the carol-boys of a Christmas eve.</p> + +<p>“Surely that's not my Martha,” whispered landlord, +Martha being his great-aunt who lived in the +loft overhead.</p> + +<p>We went to the door, and the wind burst it open +so that the handle was driven clean into the plaster +of the wall, but we didn't think about that at the +time; for over our heads, sailing very comfortably +through the windy stars, was the ship that had +passed the summer in landlord's field. Her port-holes +and her bay-window were blazing with lights, +and there was a noise of singing and fiddling on her +decks. “He's gone!” shouted landlord above the +storm, “and he's taken half the village with him.” +I could only nod in answer, not having lungs like +bellows of leather.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p> + +<p>In the morning we were able to measure the +strength of the storm, and over and above my +pigsty, there was damage enough wrought in the +village to keep us busy. True it is that the children +had to break down no branches for the firing that +autumn, since the wind had strewn the woods with +more than they could carry away. Many of our +ghosts were scattered abroad, but this time very +few came back, all the young men having sailed +with captain; and not only ghosts, for a poor half-witted +lad was missing, and we reckoned that he +had stowed himself away or perhaps shipped as +cabin-boy, not knowing any better.</p> + +<p>What with the lamentations of the ghost girls +and the grumblings of families who had lost ancestors, +the village was upset for a while, and the +funny thing was that it was the folk who had complained +most of the carryings-on of the youngsters +who made most noise now that they were gone. I +hadn't any sympathy with shoemaker or butcher, +who ran about saying how much they missed their +lads, but it made me grieve to hear the poor bereaved +girls calling their lovers by name on the +village green at nightfall. It didn't seem fair to +me that they should have lost their men a second +time, after giving up life in order to join them, as +like as not. Still, not even a spirit can be sorry +forever, and after a few months we made up our +mind that the folk who had sailed in the ship were +never coming back; and we didn't talk about it +any more.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p> + +<p>And then one day, I dare say it would be a couple +of years after, when the whole business was quite +forgotten, who should come trapesing along the +road from Portsmouth but the daft lad who had +gone away with the ship without waiting till he +was dead to become a ghost. You never saw such a +boy as that in all your life. He had a great rusty +cutlass hanging to a string at his waist, and he was +tattooed all over in fine colors, so that even his +face looked like a girl's sampler. He had a handkerchief +in his hand full of foreign shells and old-fashioned +pieces of small money, very curious, and +he walked up to the well outside his mother's house +and drew himself a drink as if he had been nowhere +in particular.</p> + +<p>The worst of it was that he had come back as +soft-headed as he went, and try as we might, we +couldn't get anything reasonable out of him. He +talked a lot of gibberish about keelhauling and +walking the plank and crimson murders—things +which a decent sailor should know nothing about, +so that it seemed to me that for all his manners +captain had been more of a pirate than a gentleman +mariner. But to draw sense out of that boy was as +hard as picking cherries off a crab-tree. One silly +tale he had that he kept on drifting back to, and to +hear him you would have thought that it was the +only thing that happened to him in his life.</p> + +<p>“We was at anchor,” he would say, “off an +island called the Basket of Flowers, and the sailors +had caught a lot of parrots and we were teaching<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +them to swear. Up and down the decks, up and +down the decks, and the language they used was +dreadful. Then we looked up and saw the masts of +the Spanish ship outside the harbor. Outside the +harbor they were, so we threw the parrots into the +sea, and sailed out to fight. And all the parrots +were drowneded in the sea, and the language they +used was dreadful.”</p> + +<p>That's the sort of boy he was—nothing but silly +talk of parrots when we asked him about the fighting. +And we never had a chance of teaching him +better, for two days after he ran away again, and +hasn't been seen since.</p> + +<p>That's my story, and I assure you that things +like that are happening at Fairfield all the time. +The ship has never come back, but somehow, as +people grow older, they seem to think that one of +these windy nights she'll come sailing in over the +hedges with all the lost ghosts on board. Well, +when she comes, she'll be welcome. There's one +ghost lass that has never grown tired of waiting +for her lad to return. Every night you'll see her +out on the green, straining her poor eyes with looking +for the mast-lights among the stars. A faithful +lass you'd call her, and I'm thinking you'd be right.</p> + +<p>Landlord's field wasn't a penny the worse for the +visit; but they do say that since then the turnips +that have been grown in it have tasted of rum.</p> +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="THE_TRANSPLANTED_GHOST" id="THE_TRANSPLANTED_GHOST"></a>THE TRANSPLANTED GHOST</h3> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> +<h4>A CHRISTMAS STORY<br /> +BY WALLACE IRWIN</h4> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>From <i>Everybody's Magazine</i>. By permission of <i>Everybody's</i> +and Wallace Irwin.</p></div> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>The Transplanted Ghost</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> +<h4>A CHRISTMAS STORY</h4> + +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> WALLACE IRWIN</h4> + + +<p>When Aunt Elizabeth asked me to spend Christmas +with her at Seven Oaks she appended a peculiar +request to her letter. “Like a good fellow,” +she wrote, “won't you drop off at Perkinsville, +Ohio, on your way, and take a look at Gauntmoor +Castle? They say it's a wonderful old pile; and +its history is in many ways connected with that of +our own family. As long as you're the last of +the Geoffray Pierreponts, such things ought to interest +you.” Like her auburn namesake who +bossed the Thames of yore, sweet, red-haired, +romantic autocrat, Aunt Elizabeth! Her wishes +were commands.</p> + +<p>“What the deuce is Aunt Elizabeth up to now?” +I asked Tim Cole, my law partner, whom I found +in my rooms smoking my tobacco. “Why should +I be inspecting Gauntmoor Castle—and what is a +castle named Gauntmoor doing in Perkinsville, +Ohio, anyway? Perkinsville sounds like the +Middle West, and Gauntmoor sounds like the +Middle Ages.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Right in both analyses,” said the pipe-poaching +Tim. “Castle Gauntmoor <i>is</i> from the Middle +Ages, and we all know about where in Ohio Perkinsville +is. But is it possible that you, twenty-seven +years old and a college graduate, haven't heard of +Thaddeus Hobson, the Marvelous Millionaire?” +I shook my head. “The papers have been full of +Hobson in the past two or three years,” said Tim. +“It was in 1898, I think, that Fate jumped Thaddeus +Hobson to the golden Olympus. He was first +head salesman in the village hardware store, then +he formulated so successful a scheme to clean up +the Tin Plate Combine that he put away a fabulous +number of millions in a year, and subsequently +went to England. Finally he set his heart on Norman +architecture. After a search he found the +ancient Castle Gauntmoor still habitable and for +sale. He thrilled the British comic papers by his +offer to buy the castle and move it to America. +Hobson saw the property, telegraphed to London, +and closed the deal in two hours. And an army of +laborers at once began taking the Gauntmoor to +pieces, stone by stone.</p> + +<p>“Transporting that relic to America involved +a cost in labor and ingenuity comparable with +nothing that has yet happened. Moving the Great +Pyramid would be a lighter job, perhaps. Thousands +of tons of scarred and medieval granite were +carried to the railroads, freighted to the sea, and +dragged across the Atlantic in whopping big +lighters chartered for the job. And the next the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +newspapers knew, the monster was set up in Perkinsville, +Ohio.”</p> + +<p>“But why did he do it?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Who knows?” said Tim. “Ingrowing sentiment—unlimited +capital—wanted to do something +for the Home Town, probably; wanted to +beautify the village that gave him his start—and +didn't know how to go at it. Well, so long!” he +called out, as I seized my hat and streaked for the +train.</p> + +<br /> + +<p>It was dinner time when the train pulled in at +Perkinsville. The town was as undistinguished as +I expected. I was too hungry to care about castles +at the moment, so I took the 'bus for the Commercial +Hotel, an establishment that seemed to +live up to its name, both in sentiment and in accommodation. +The landlord, Mr. Spike, referred +bitterly to the castle, which, he explained, was, by +its dominating presence, “spoilin' the prosperous +appearance of Perkinsville.” Dinner over, he led +me to a side porch.</p> + +<p>“How does Perkinsville look with that—with +that curio squattin' on top of it?” asked Mr. Spike +sternly, as he pointed over the local livery stable, +over Smith Brothers' Plow Works, over Odd +Fellows' Hall, and up, up to the bleak hills beyond, +where, poised like a stony coronet on a giant's +brow, rose the great Norman towers and frowning +buttresses of Gauntmoor Castle. I rubbed my eyes. +No, it <i>couldn't</i> be real—it must be a wizard's work!</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span></p> + +<p>“What's old Hobson got out of it?” said Mr. +Spike in my ear. “Nothin' but an old stone barn, +where he can set all day nursin' a grouch and +keepin' his daughter Anita—they do say he does—under +lock and key for fear somebody's goin' to +marry her for her money.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Spike looked up at the ramparts defiantly, +even as the Saxon churl must have gazed in an +earlier, far sadder land.</p> + +<p>“It's romantic,” I suggested.</p> + +<p>“Yes, <i>darn</i> rheumatic,” agreed Mr. Spike.</p> + +<p>“Is it open for visitors?” I asked innocently.</p> + +<p>“Hobson?” cackled Spike. “He'd no more welcome +a stranger to that place than he'd welcome—a +ghost. He's a hol-ee terror, Hobson!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Spike turned away to referee a pool game +down in the barroom.</p> + +<p>The fires of a December sunset flared behind +Gauntmoor and cast the grim shadows of Medievalism +over Mediocrity, which lay below. Presently +the light faded, and I grew tired of gazing. +Since Hobson would permit no tourists to inspect +his castle, why was I here on this foolish trip? +Already I was planning to wire Aunt Elizabeth a +sarcastic reference to being marooned at Christmas +with a castle on my hands, when a voice at my +shoulder said suddenly:</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hobson sends his compliments, sir, and +wants to know would Mr. Pierrepont come up to +Gauntmoor for the night?”</p> + +<p>A groom in a plum-colored livery stood at my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> +elbow. A light station wagon was waiting just +outside. How the deuce did Hobson know my +name? What did he want of me at Gauntmoor +this time of night? Yet prospects of bed and +breakfast away from the Commercial lured me +strangely.</p> + +<p>“Sure, Mr. Pierrepont will be delighted,” I +announced, leaping into the vehicle, and soon we +were mounting upward, battling with the winds +around the time-scarred walls. The wagon stopped +at the great gate. A horn sounded from within, +the gate swung open, a drawbridge fell with a +hideous creaking of machinery, and we passed in, +twenty or thirty feet above the snow-drifted moat. +Beyond the portcullis a dim door swung open. +Some sort of seneschal met us with a light and led +us below the twilight arches, where beyond, I +could catch glimpses of the baileys and courts and +the donjon tower against the heavy ramparts.</p> + +<p>The wind hooted through the high galleries as +we passed; but the west wing, from its many windows +and loopholes, blazed with cheerful yellow +light. It looked nearly cozy. Into a tall, gaunt +tower we plunged, down a winding staircase, and +suddenly we came into a vast hall, stately with +tapestries and innumerable monkish carvings—and +all brightly lighted with electricity!</p> + +<p>A little fat man sat smoking in a chair near the +fire. When I entered he was in his shirt sleeves, +reading a newspaper, but when a footman announced +my name the little man, in a state of great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +nervousness, jumped to his feet and threw on a +coat, fidgeting painfully with the armholes. As he +came toward me, I noticed that he was perfectly +bald. He looked dyspeptic and discontented, like +a practical man trying vainly to adjust his busy +habits to a lazy life. Obviously he didn't go with +the rest of the furniture.</p> + +<p>“Pleased to see you, Mr. Pierrepont,” he said, +looking me over carefully as if he thought of buying +me. “Geoffray Pierrepont—tut, tut!—ain't +it queer!”</p> + +<p>“Queer!” I said rather peevishly. “What's +queer about it?”</p> + +<p>“Excuse me, did I say queer? I didn't mean +to be impolite, sir—I was just thinking, that's +all.”</p> + +<p>You could hear the demon Army of the Winds +scaling the walls outside.</p> + +<p>“Maybe you thought it kind of abrupt, Mr. +Pierrepont, me asking you up here so unceremonious,” +he said. “My daughter Annie, she tells me +I ought to live up to the looks of the place; but I've +got my notions. To tell you the truth, I'm in an +awful quandary about this Antique Castle business +and when I heard you was at the hotel, I thought +you might help me out some way. You see you——”</p> + +<p>He led me to a chair and offered me a fat cigar.</p> + +<p>“Young man,” he said, “when you get your +head above water and make good in the world—if +you ever do—don't fool with curios, don't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +monkey with antiques. Keep away from castles. +They're like everything else sold by curio dealers—all +humbug. Look nice, yes. But get 'em over to +America and they either fall to pieces or the paint +comes off. Whether it's a chair or a castle—same +old story. The sly scalawags that sell you the +goods won't live up to their contracts.”</p> + +<p>“Hasn't Gauntmoor all the ancient inconveniences +a Robber Baron could wish?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“It ain't,” announced Mr. Hobson. “Though +it looks all right to a stranger, perhaps. There may +be castles in the Old World got it on Gauntmoor +for size—thank God I didn't buy 'em!—but for +looks you can't beat Gauntmoor.”</p> + +<p>“Comfortable?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Can't complain. Modern plumbed throughout. +Hard to heat, but I put an electric-light +plant in the cellar. Daughter Annie's got a Colonial +suite in the North Tower.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” I suggested, “if there's anything the +castle lacks, you can buy it.”</p> + +<p>“There's one thing money <i>can't</i> buy,” said Mr. +Hobson, leaning very close and speaking in a sibilant +whisper. “And that's ghosts!”</p> + +<p>“But who wants ghosts?” I inquired.</p> + +<p>“Now look here,” said Mr. Hobson. “I'm a +business man. When I bought Gauntmoor, the +London scalawags that sold it to me gave me distinctly +to understand that this was a Haunted +Castle. They showed me a haunted chamber, +showed me the haunted wall where the ghost walks,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +guaranteed the place to be the Spook Headquarters +of the British Isles—and see what I got!” He +snapped his fingers in disgust.</p> + +<p>“No results?”</p> + +<p>“Results? Stung! I've slept in that haunted +room upstairs for a solid year. I've gazed night +after night over the haunted rampart. I've even +hired spiritualists to come and cut their didoes in +the towers and donjon keep. No use. You can't +get ghosts where they ain't.”</p> + +<p>I expressed my sympathy.</p> + +<p>“I'm a plain man,” said Hobson. “I ain't got +any ancestors back of father, who was a blacksmith, +and a good one, when sober. Somebody else's +ancestors is what I looked for in this place—and +I've got 'em, too, carved in wood and stone in the +chapel out back of the tower. But statues and +carvings ain't like ghosts to add tone to an ancient +lineage.”</p> + +<p>“Is there any legend?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Haven't you heard it?” he exclaimed, looking +at me sharply out of his small gray eyes. “It +seems, 'way back in the sixteenth century, there +was a harum-scarum young feller living in a neighboring +castle, and he took an awful shine to Lady +Katherine, daughter of the Earl of Cummyngs, +who was boss of this place at that time. Now the +young man who loved Miss—I mean Lady—Katherine +was a sort of wild proposition. Old man +wouldn't have him around the place; but young +man kept hanging on till Earl ordered him off.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> +Finally the old gent locked Lady Kitty in the donjon +tower,” said Mr. Hobson.</p> + +<p>“Too much shilly-shallying in <i>this</i> generation,” +he went on. “Every house that's got a pretty girl +ought to have a donjon keep. I've got both.” He +paused and wiped his brow.</p> + +<p>“This fresh young kid I'm telling you about, +he thought he knew more than the old folks, so he +got a rope ladder and climbed up the masonry one +night, intending to bust into the tower where the +girl was. But just as he got half across the wall—out +yonder—his foot slipped and he broke his neck +in the moat below. Consequence, Lady Kitty goes +crazy and old Earl found dead a week later in his +room. It was Christmas Eve when the boy was +killed. That's the night his ghost's supposed to +walk along the ramparts, give a shriek, and drop +off—but the irritating thing about it all is, it don't +ever happen.”</p> + +<p>“And now, Mr. Hobson,” I said, throwing away +the butt of my cigar, “why am <i>I</i> here? What have +<i>I</i> got to do with all this ghost business?”</p> + +<p>“I <i>want</i> you to stay,” said Hobson, beseechingly. +“To-morrow night's Christmas Eve. I've figured it +out that your influence, somehow, you being of the +same blood, as it were, might encourage the ghost +to come out and save the reputation of the castle.”</p> + +<p>A servant brought candles, and Hobson turned +to retire.</p> + +<p>“The same blood!” I shouted after him. “What +on earth is the <i>name</i> of the ghost?”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> + +<p>“When he was alive his name was—Sir Geoffray +de Pierrepont,” said Thaddeus Hobson, his figure +fading into the dimness beyond.</p> + +<p>I followed the servant with the candle aloft +through chill and carven corridors, through galleries +lined with faded portraits of forgotten lords. +“Wheels!” I kept saying to myself. “The old +man evidently thinks it takes a live Pierrepont to +coax a dead one,” and I laughed nervously as I +entered the vast brown bedroom. I had to get +on a chair in order to climb into the four-poster, a +cheerful affair that looked like a royal funeral +barge. At my head I noticed a carved device, +seven mailed hands snatching at a sword with the +motto: “CAVE ADSUM!”</p> + +<p>“Beware, I am here!” I translated. Who was +here? Ghosts? Fudge! What hideous scenes had +this chamber beheld of yore? What might not +happen here now? Where, by the way, was old +Hobson's daughter, Anita? Might not anything +be possible? I covered my head with the bedclothes.</p> + +<br /> + +<p>Next morning being mild and bright for December, +and Thaddeus Hobson and his mysterious +daughter not having showed up for breakfast, I +amused myself by inspecting the exterior of the +castle. In daylight I could see that Gauntmoor, as +now restored, consisted of only a portion of the +original structure. On the west side, near a sheer +fall of forty or fifty feet, stood the donjon tower, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +fine piece of medieval barbarism with a peaked +roof. And, sure enough! I saw it all now. Running +along the entire west side of the castle was a +wonderful wall, stretching above the moat to a +dizzy height. It was no difficult matter to mount +this wall from the courtyard, above which it rose +no more than eight or ten feet. I ascended by a +rude sentry's staircase, and once on top I gazed +upward at the tall medieval prison-place, which +reared above me like a clumsy stone chimney. +Just as I stood, at the top of the wall, I was ten or +twelve feet below the lowest window of the donjon +tower. This, then, was the wall that the ancient +Pierrepont had scaled, and yonder was the donjon +window that he had planned to plunder on that +fatal night so long ago. And this was where Pierrepont +the Ghost was supposed to appear!</p> + +<p>How the lover of spectral memory had managed +to scale that wall from the outside, I could not +quite make out. But once <i>on</i> the wall, it was no +trick to snatch the damsel from her durance vile. +Just drop a long rope ladder from the wall to the +moat, then crawl along the narrow ledge—got to +be careful with a job like that—then up to the +window of the donjon keep, and away with the +Lady Fair. Why, that window above the ramparts +would be an easy climb for a fellow with +strong arms and a little nerve, as the face of the +tower from the wall to the window was studded +with ancient spikes and the projecting ends of beams.</p> + +<p>I counted the feet, one, two, three—and as I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +looked up at the window, a small, white hand +reached out and a pink slip of paper dropped at +my feet. It read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>: I'm Miss Hobson. I'm locked in +the donjon tower. Father always locks me here +when there's a young man about. It's a horrid, +uncomfortable place. Won't you hurry and go?</p> + +<center>Yours respectfully,</center> +<p style="text-align: right;"><span class="smcap">A. Hobson.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>I knew it was easy. I swung myself aloft on the +spikes and stones leading to the donjon window. +When I was high enough I gazed in, my chin about +even with the sill. And there I saw the prettiest +girl I ever beheld, gazing down at a book tranquilly, +as though gentlemanly rescuers were common +as toads around that tower. She wore something +soft and golden; her hair was night-black, +and her eyes were that peculiar shade of gray that—but +what's the use?</p> + +<p>“Pardon,” I said, holding on with my right +hand, lifting my hat with my left. “Pardon, am +I addressing Miss Annie Hobson?”</p> + +<p>“You are not,” she replied, only half looking up. +“You are addressing Miss Anita Hobson. Calling +me Annie is another little habit father ought to +break himself of.” She went on reading.</p> + +<p>“Is that a very interesting book?” I asked, +because I didn't like to go without saying something +more.</p> + +<p>“It isn't!” She arose suddenly and hurled the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +book into a corner. “It's Anthony Hope—and if +there's anything I hate it's him. Father always +gives me <i>Prisoner of Zenda</i> and <i>Ivanhoe</i> to read +when he locks me into this donjon. Says I ought +to read up on the situation. Do you think so?”</p> + +<p>“There are some other books in the library,” I +suggested. “Bernard Shaw and Kipling, you +know. I'll run over and get you one.”</p> + +<p>“That's fine—but no!” she besought, reaching +out her hand to detain me. “No, don't go! If you +went away you'd never come back. They never +do.”</p> + +<p>“Who never do?”</p> + +<p>“The young men. The very instant father sees +one coming he pops me in the tower and turns the +key. You see,” she explained, “when I was in +Italy I was engaged to a duke—he was a silly little +thing and I was glad when he turned out bogus. +But father took the deception awfully to heart and +swore I should never be married for my money. +Yet I don't see what else a young girl can expect,” +she added quite simply.</p> + +<p>I could have mentioned several hundred things.</p> + +<p>“He has no right!” I said sternly. “It's barbarous +for him to treat a girl that way—especially +his daughter.”</p> + +<p>“Hush!” she said. “Dad's a good sort. But +you can't measure him by other people's standards. +And yet—oh, it's maddening, this life! +Day after day—loneliness. Nothing but stone +walls and rusty armor and books. We're rich, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +what do we get out of it? I have nobody of my +own age to talk to. How the years are passing! +After a while—I'll be—an old maid. I'm twenty-one +now!” I heard a sob. Her pretty head was +bowed in her hands.</p> + +<p>Desperately I seized the bars of the window and +miraculously they parted. I leaned across the sill +and drew her hands gently down.</p> + +<p>“Listen to me,” I said. “If I break in and steal +you away from this, will you go?”</p> + +<p>“Go?” she said. “Where?”</p> + +<p>“My aunt lives at Seven Oaks, less than an +hour from here by train. You can stay there till +your father comes to his reason.”</p> + +<p>“It's quite like father <i>never</i> to come to his reason,” +she reflected. “Then I should have to be +self-supporting. Of course, I should appreciate +employment in a candy shop—I think I know all +the principal kinds.”</p> + +<p>“Will you go?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she replied simply, “I'll go. But how +can I get away from here?”</p> + +<p>“To-night,” I said, “is Christmas Eve, when +Pierrepont the Ghost is supposed to walk along +the wall—right under this window. You don't +believe that fairy story, do you?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Neither do I. But can't you see? The haunted +wall begins at my window on one end of the castle +and ends at your window on the other. The bars +of your cell, I see, are nearly all loose.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes,” she laughed, “I pried them out with a +pair of scissors.”</p> + +<p>I could hear Hobson's voice across the court +giving orders to servants.</p> + +<p>“Your father's coming. Remember to-night,” +I whispered.</p> + +<p>“Midnight,” she said softly, smiling out at me. +I could have faced flocks and flocks of dragons for +her at that moment. The old man was coming +nearer. I swung to the ground and escaped into a +ruined court.</p> + +<p>Well, the hours that followed were anxious and +busy for me. I worked in the glamour of romance +like a soldier about to do some particularly brave +and foolish thing. From the window of my room +I looked down on the narrow, giddy wall below. +It <i>was</i> a brave and foolish thing. Among the +rubbish in an old armory I found a coil of stout +rope, forty or fifty feet of it. This I smuggled +away. From a remote hall I borrowed a Crusader's +helmet and spent the balance of the afternoon in +my room practicing with a sheet across my shoulders, +shroud-fashion.</p> + +<p>We dined grandly at eight, the old man and I. +He drank thirstily and chatted about the ghost, as +you might discuss the chances in a coming athletic +event. After what seemed an age he looked at his +watch and cried: “Whillikens! Eleven o'clock +already! Well, I'll be going up to watch from the +haunted room. I think, Jeff, that you'll bring me +luck to-night.”</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I am sure I shall!” I answered sardonically, as +he departed.</p> + +<p>Three quarters of an hour later, wearing the +Crusader's helmet and swathed in a bedsheet, I +let myself down from the window to the haunted +wall below. It was moonlight, bitter cold as I +crouched on the wall, waiting for the stroke of +twelve, when I should act the spook and walk +along that precarious ledge to rescue Anita.</p> + +<p>The “haunted wall,” I observed from where I +stood, was shaped like an irregular crescent, being +in plain view of Hobson's “haunted room” at the +middle, but not so at its north and south ends, +where my chamber and Anita's tower were respectively +situated. I pulled out my watch from under +my winding-sheet. Three minutes of twelve. I +drew down the vizor of my helmet and gathered up +my cerements preparatory to walking the hundred +feet of wall which would bring me in sight of the +haunted room where old Hobson kept his vigil. +Two minutes, one minute I waited, when—I +suddenly realized I was not alone.</p> + +<p>A man wearing a long cloak and a feather in his +cap was coming toward me along the moonlit +masonry. Aha! So I was not the only masquerading +swain calling on the captive princess in the +prison tower. A jealous pang shot through me as +I realized this.</p> + +<p>The man was within twenty feet of me, when I +noticed something. He was not walking on the +wall. <i>He was walking on air, three or four feet above +the wall.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> Nearer and nearer came the man—the +Thing—now into the light of the moon, whose +beams seemed to strike through his misty tissue +like the thrust of a sword. I was horribly scared. +My knees loosened under me, and I clutched the +vines at my back to save me from falling into the +moat below. Now I could see his face, and somehow +fear seemed to leave me. His expression was +so young and human.</p> + +<p>“Ghost of the Pierrepont,” I thought, “whether +you walk in shadow or in light, you lived among a +race of Men!”</p> + +<p>His noble, pallid face seemed to burn with its +own pale light, but his eyes were in darkness. He +was now within two yards of me. I could see the +dagger at his belt. I could see the gory cut on his +forehead. I attempted to speak, but my voice +creaked like a rusty hinge. He neither heeded nor +saw me; and when he came to the spot where I +stood, he did not turn out for me. He walked +<i>through</i> me! And when next I saw him he was a +few feet beyond me, standing in mid-air over the +moat and gazing up at the high towers like one +revisiting old scenes. Again he floated toward me +and poised on the wall four feet from where I stood.</p> + +<p>“What do you here to-night?” suddenly spoke, +or seemed to speak, a voice that was like the echo +of a silence.</p> + +<p>No answer came from my frozen tongue. Yet I +would gladly have spoken, because somehow I felt +a great sympathy for this boyish spirit.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> + +<p>“It has been many earth-years,” he said, “since +I have walked these towers. And ah, cousin, it +has been many miles that I have been called to-night +to answer the summons of my race. And this +fortress—what power has moved it overseas to this +mad kingdom? Magic!”</p> + +<p>His eyes seemed suddenly to blaze through the +shadows.</p> + +<p>“Cousin,” he again spoke, “it is to you that I +come from my far-off English tomb. It was your +need called me. It is no pious deed brings you to +this wall to-night. You are planning to pillage +these towers unworthily, even as I did yesterday. +Death was my portion, and broken hearts to the +father I wronged and the girl I sought.”</p> + +<p>“But it is the father wrongs the girl here,” I +heard myself saying.</p> + +<p>“He who rules these towers to-day is of stern +mind but loving heart,” said the ghost. “Patience. +By the Star that redeems the world, love +should not be won <i>to-night</i> by stealth, but by—love.”</p> + +<p>He raised his hands toward the tower, his countenance +radiant with an undying passion.</p> + +<p>“<i>She</i> called to me and died,” he said, “and her +little ghost comes not to earth again for any winter +moon or any summer wind.”</p> + +<p>“But you—you come often?” my voice was +saying.</p> + +<p>“No,” said the ghost, “only on Christmas Eve. +Yule is the tide of specters; for then the thoughts<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +of the world are so beautiful that they enter our +dreams and call us back.”</p> + +<p>He turned to go, and a boyish, friendly smile +rested a moment on his pale face.</p> + +<p>“Farewell, Sir Geoffray de Pierrepont,” he +called to me.</p> + +<p>Into the misty moonlight the ghost floated to +that portion of the wall directly opposite the +haunted room. From where I stood I could not +see this chamber. After a moment I shook my +numb senses to life. My first instinct was one of +strong human curiosity, which impelled me to follow +far enough to see the effect of the apparition on +old Hobson, who must be watching at the window.</p> + +<p>I tiptoed a hundred feet along the wall and +peered around a turret up to a room above, where +Hobson's head could easily be seen in a patch of +light. The ghost, at that moment, was walking +just below, and the effect on the old man, appalling +though it was, was ludicrous as well. He was +leaning far out of the window, his mouth wide +open; and the entire disk of his fat, hairless head +was as pallid as the moon itself. The specter, who +was now rounding the curve of the wall near the +tower, swerved suddenly, and as suddenly seemed +to totter headlong into the abyss below. As he +dropped, a wild laugh broke through the frosty air. +It wasn't from the ghost. It came from above—yes, +it emanated from Thaddeus Hobson, who had, +apparently, fallen back, leaving the window empty. +Lights began breaking out all over the castle. In<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +another moment I should be caught in my foolish +disguise. With the courage of a coward, I turned +and ran full tilt along the dizzy ledge and back to +my window, where I lost no seconds scrambling up +the rope that led to my room.</p> + +<p>With all possible haste I threw aside my sheet +and helmet and started downstairs. I had just +wrestled with a ghost; I would now have it out +with the old man. The castle seemed ablaze below. +I saw the flash of a light skirt in the picture gallery, +and Anita, pale as the vision I had so lately beheld, +came running toward me.</p> + +<p>“Father—saw it!” she panted. “He had some +sort of sinking spell—he's better now—isn't it +awful!” She clung to me, sobbing hysterically.</p> + +<p>Before I realized what I had done, I was holding +her close in my arms.</p> + +<p>“Don't!” I cried. “It was a good ghost—he +had a finer spirit than mine. He came to-night +for you, dear, and for me. It was a foolish thing +we planned.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but I wanted, I wanted to go!” she sobbed +now crying frankly on my shoulder.</p> + +<p>“You <i>are</i> going with me,” I said fiercely, raising +her head. “But not over any ghost-ridden breakneck +wall. We're going this time through the big +front door of this old castle, American fashion, and +there'll be an automobile waiting outside and a +parson at the other end of the line.”</p> + +<p>We found Thaddeus Hobson alone, in the vast +hall looking blankly at the fire.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Jeff,” he said solemnly, “you sure brought me +luck to-night if you can call it such being scared +into a human icicle. Br-r-r! Shall I ever get the +cold out of my backbone? But somehow, somehow +that foggy feller outside sort of changed my +look on things. It made me feel <i>kinder</i> toward +living folks. Ain't it strange!”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hobson,” I said, “I think the ghost has +made us <i>all</i> see things differently. In a word, sir, +I have a confession to make—if you don't mind.”</p> + +<p>And I told him briefly of my accidental meeting +with Anita in the donjon, of the practical joke we +planned, of our sudden meeting with the <i>real</i> ghost +on the ramparts. Mr. Hobson listened, his face +growing redder and redder. At the finish of my +story he suddenly leaped to his feet and brought +his fist down on the table with a bang.</p> + +<p>“Well, you little devils!” he said admiringly, +and burst into loud laughter. “You're a spunky +lad, Jeff. And there ain't any doubt that the de +Pierreponts are as good stuff as you can get in the +ancestry business. The Christmas supper is spread +in the banquet hall. Come, de Pierrepont, will you +sup with the old Earl?”</p> + +<br /> + +<p>The huge oaken banquet hall, lined with rich +hangings, shrunk us to dwarfs by its vastness. +Golden goblets were at each place. A butler, +dressed in antique livery, threw a red cloak over +Hobson's fat shoulders. It was a whim of the old +man's.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p> + +<p>As we took our places, I noticed the table was +set for four.</p> + +<p>“Whose is the extra place?” I asked.</p> + +<p>The old man at first made no reply. At last he +turned to me earnestly and said: “Do you believe +in ghosts?”</p> + +<p>“No,” I replied. “Yet how else can I explain +that vision I saw on the ramparts?”</p> + +<p>“Is the fourth place for him?” Anita almost +whispered.</p> + +<p>The old man nodded mutely and raised a golden +goblet.</p> + +<p>“To the Transplanted Ghost!” I said. It was +an empty goblet that I touched to my lips.</p> +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="THE_LAST_GHOST_IN_HARMONY" id="THE_LAST_GHOST_IN_HARMONY"></a>THE LAST GHOST IN HARMONY</h3> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> NELSON LLOYD</h4> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>From <i>Scribner's Magazine</i>. Copyright, 1907, by Charles +Scribner's Sons. By permission of the publishers and Nelson +Lloyd.</p></div> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>The Last Ghost in Harmony</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> NELSON LLOYD</h4> + + +<p>From his perch on the blacksmith's anvil he +spoke between the puffs of his post-prandial pipe. +The fire in the forge was out and the day was going +slowly, through the open door of the shop and the +narrow windows, westward to the mountains. In +the advancing shadow, on the pile of broken wheels +on the work-bench, on keg and barrel, they sat +puffing their post-prandial pipes and listening.</p> + +<br /> + +<p>For a partner in business I want a truthful man, +but for a companion give me one with imagination. +To my mind imagination is the spice of life. There +is nothing so uninteresting as a fact, for when you +know it that is the end of it. When life becomes +nothing but facts it won't be worth living; yet in +a few years the race will have no imagination left. +It is being educated out. Look at the children. +When I was young the bogey man was as real to +me as pa and nearly as much to be feared of, but +just yesterday I was lectured for merely mentioning +him to my neffy. So with ghosts. We was +taught to believe in ghosts the same as we was in +Adam or Noar. Nowadays nobody believes in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> +them. It is unscientific, and if you are superstitious +you are considered ignorant and laughed at. +Ghosts are the product of the imagination, but if I +imagine I see one he is as real to me as if he actually +exists, isn't he? Therefore he does exist. That's +logic. You fellows have become scientific and +admits only what you see and feel, and don't depend +on your imagination for anything. Such +being the case, I myself admit that the sperrits no +longer ha'nt the burying-ground or play around +your houses. I admit it because the same condition +exact existed in Harmony when I was there, +and because of what was told me by Robert J. +Dinkle about two years after he died, and because +of what occurred between me and him and the +Rev. Mr. Spiegelnail.</p> + +<p>Harmony was a highly intellectual town. About +the last man there with any imagination or interesting +ideas, excepting me, of course, was +Robert J. Dinkle. Yet he had an awful reputation, +and when he died it was generally stated privately +that the last landmark of ignorance and superstition +had been providentially removed. You know +he had always been seeing things, but we set it +down to his fondness for hard cider or his natural +prepensity for joshing. With him gone there was +no one left to report the doings of the sperrit-world. +In fact, so widespread was the light of +reason, as the Rev. Mr. Spiegelnail called it, that +the burying-ground became a popular place for +moonlight strolls. Even I walked through it frequent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +on my way home from Miss Wheedle's, with +whom I was keeping company, and it never +occurred to me to go any faster there, or to look +back over my shoulder, for I didn't believe in such +foolishness. But to the most intellectual there +comes times of doubt about things they know +nothing of nor understand. Such a time come to +me, when the wind was more mournfuller than +usual in the trees, and the clouds scudded along +overhead, casting peculiar shadders. My imagination +got the best of my intellect. I hurried. I +looked back over my shoulder. I shivered, kind of. +Natural I see nothing in the burying-ground, yet +at the end of town I was still uneasy-like, though +half laughing at myself. It was so quiet; not a +light burned anywhere, and the square seemed +lonelier than the cemetery, and the store was so +deserted, so ghostly in the moonlight, that I just +couldn't keep from peering around at it.</p> + +<p>Then, from the empty porch, from the empty +bench—empty, I swear, for I could see plain, so +clear was the night—from absolute nothing come +as pleasant a voice as ever I hear.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” it says.</p> + +<p>My blood turned icy-like and the chills waved +up and down all through me. I couldn't move.</p> + +<p>The voice came again, so natural, so familiar, +that I warmed some, and rubbed my eyes and +stared.</p> + +<p>There, sitting on the bench, in his favorite place, +was the late Robert J. Dinkle, gleaming in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> +moonlight, the front door showing right through +him.</p> + +<p>“I must appear pretty distinct,” he says in a +proud-like way. “Can't you see me very plain?”</p> + +<p>See him plain! I should think so. Even the +patches on his coat was visible, and only for the +building behind him, he never looked more natural, +and hearing him so pleasant, set me thinking. +This, says I, is the sperrit of the late Robert J. +Dinkle. In life he never did me any harm and in +his present misty condition is likely to do less; if +he is looking for trouble I'm not afraid of a bit +of fog. Such being the case, I says, I shall address +him as soon as I am able.</p> + +<p>But Robert got tired waiting, and spoke again +in an anxious tone, a little louder, and ruther complaining, +“Don't I show up good?” says he.</p> + +<p>“I never see you looking better,” I answered, +for my voice had came back, and the chills were +quieter, and I was fairly ca'm and dared even to +move a little nearer.</p> + +<p>A bright smile showed on his pale face. “It is a +relief to be seen at last,” he cried, most cheerful. +“For years I've been trying to do a little ha'nting +around here, and no one would notice me. I used +to think mebbe my material was too delicate and +gauzy, but I've conceded that, after all, the stuff is +not to blame.”</p> + +<p>He heaved a sigh so natural that I forgot all +about his being a ghost. Indeed, taken all in all, I +see that he had improved, was solemner, had a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +sweeter expression and wasn't likely to give in to +his old prepensity for joshing.</p> + +<p>“Set down and we will talk it over,” he went on +most winning. “Really, I can't do any harm, but +please be a little afraid and then I will show up +distincter. I must be getting dim now.”</p> + +<p>“You are,” says I, for though I was on the porch +edging nearer him most bold, I could hardly see +him.</p> + +<p>Without any warning he gave an awful groan +that brought the chills waving back most violent. +I jumped and stared, and as I stared he stood out +plainer and solider in the moonlight.</p> + +<p>“That's better,” he said with a jolly chuckle; +“now you do believe in me, don't you? Well, set +there nervous-like, on the edge of the bench and +don't be too ca'm-like, or I'll disappear.”</p> + +<p>The ghost's orders were followed explicit. But +with him setting there so natural and pleasant it +was hard to be frightened and more than once I +forgot. He, seeing me peering like my eyesight +was bad, would give a groan that made my blood +curdle. Up he would flare again, gleaming in the +moonlight full and strong.</p> + +<p>“Harmony's getting too scientific, too intellectual,” +he said, speaking very melancholic. “What +can't be explained by arithmetic or geography is +put down as impossible. Even the preachers encourage +such idees and talk about Adam and Eve +being allegories. As a result, the graveyard has +become the slowest place in town. You simply<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> +can't ha'nt anything around here. A man hears a +groan in his room and he gets up and closes the +shutters tighter, or throws a shoe at a rat, or swears +at the wind in the chimney. A few sperrits were +hanging around when I was first dead, but they +were complaining very bad about the hard times. +There used to be plenty of good society in the burying-ground, +they said, but one by one they had to +quit. All the old Berrys had left. Mr. Whoople +retired when he was taken for a white mule. Mrs. +Morris A. Klump, who once oppyrated 'round the +deserted house beyond the mill had gave up in +disgust just a week before my arrival. I tried to +encourage the few remaining, explained how the +sperritualists were working down the valley and +would strike town any time, but they had lost all +hope—kept fading away till only me was left. If +things don't turn for the better soon I must go, +too. It's awful discouraging. And lonely! Why +folks ramble around the graves like even I wasn't +there. Just last night my boy Ossy came strolling +along with the lady he is keeping company with, +and where do you s'pose they set down to rest, and +look at the moon and talk about the silliest subjecks? +Right on my headstone! I stood in front +of them and did the ghostliest things till I was clean +tired out and discouraged. They just would not +pay the least attention.”</p> + +<p>The poor old ghost almost broke down and +cried. Never in life had I known him so much +affected, and it went right to my heart to see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +him wiping his eyes with his handkercher and +snuffling.</p> + +<p>“Mebbe you don't make enough noise when you +ha'nt,” says I most sympathetic.</p> + +<p>“I do all the regular acts,” says he, a bit het up +by my remark. “We always were kind of limited. +I float around and groan, and talk foolish, and +sometimes I pull off bedclothes or reveal the hiding-place +of buried treasure. But what good does it do +in a town so intellectual as Harmony?”</p> + +<p>I have seen many folks who were down on their +luck, but never one who so appealed to me as the +late Robert J. Dinkle. It was the way he spoke, +the way he looked, his general patheticness, his +very helplessness, and deservingness. In life I had +known him well, and as he was now I liked him +better. So I did want to do something for him. +We sat studying for a long time, him smoking very +violent, blowing clouds of fog outen his pipe, me +thinking up some way to help him. And idees +allus comes to them who sets and waits.</p> + +<p>“The trouble is partly as you say, Robert,” I +allowed after a bit, “and again partly because you +can't make enough noise to awaken the slumbering +imagination of intellectual Harmony. With a little +natural help from me though, you might stir things +up in this town.”</p> + +<p>You never saw a gladder smile or a more gratefuller +look than that poor sperrit gave me.</p> + +<p>“Ah,” he says, “with your help I could do +wonders. Now who'll we begin on?”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p> + +<p>“The Rev. Mr. Spiegelnail,” says I, “has about +all the imagination left in Harmony—of course +excepting me.”</p> + +<p>Robert's face fell visible. “I have tried him +repeated and often,” he says, kind of argumentative-like. +“All the sign he made was to complain +that his wife talked in her sleep.”</p> + +<p>I wasn't going to argue—not me. I was all for +action, and lost no time in starting. Robert J., he +followed me like a dog, up through town to our +house, where I went in, leaving him outside so as +not to disturb mother. There I got me a hammer +and nails with the heavy lead sinker offen my fishnet, +and it wasn't long before the finest tick-tack +you ever saw was working against the Spiegelnails' +parlor window, with me in a lilac-bush operating +the string that kept the weight a-swinging. Before +the house was an open spot where the moon shone +full and clear, where Robert J. walked up and +down, about two feet off the ground, waving his +arms slow-like and making the melancholiest +groans. Now I have been to <i>Uncle Tom's Cabin</i> +frequent, but in all my life I never see such acting. +Yet what was the consequences? Up went the +window above, and the Rev. Mr. Spiegelnail +showed out plain in the moonlight.</p> + +<p>“Who is there?” he called very stern. You had +otter see Robert then. It was like tonic to him. +He rose up higher and began to beat his arms most +violent and to gurgle tremendous. But the +preacher never budged.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p> + +<p>“You boys otter be ashamed of yourselves,” +he says in a severe voice.</p> + +<p>“Louder, louder,” I calls to Robert J., in answering +which he began the most awful contortions.</p> + +<p>“You can hear me perfectly plain,” says the +dominie, now kind of sad-like. “It fills my old +heart with sorrow to see that yous all have gone +so far astray.”</p> + +<p>Hearing that, so calm, so distinct, so defiant, +made Robert J. stop short and stare. To remind +him I gave the weight an extra thump, and it was +so loud as to bring forth Mrs. Spiegelnail, her head +showing plain as she peered out over the preacher's +shoulder. The poor discouraged ghost took heart, +striking his tragicest attitude, one which he told +me afterwards was his pride and had been got out +of a book. But what was the result?</p> + +<p>“Does you hear anyone in the bushes, dear?” +inquires Mr. Spiegelnail, cocking his ears and +listening.</p> + +<p>“It must be Ossy Dinkle and them bad friends +of his,” says she, in her sour tone.</p> + +<p>Poor Robert! Hearing that, he about gave up +hope.</p> + +<p>“Don't I show up good?” he asks in an anxious +voice.</p> + +<p>“I can see you distinct,” says I, very sharp. +“You never looked better.”</p> + +<p>Down went the window—so sudden, so unexpected +that I did not know what to make of it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> +Robert J. thought he did, and over me he came +floating, most delighted.</p> + +<p>“I must have worked,” he said, laughing like +he'd die, a-doubling up and holding his sides to +keep from splitting. “At last I have showed up +distinct; at last I am of some use in the world. +You don't realize what a pleasure it is to know +that you are fulfilling your mission and living up +to your reputation.”</p> + +<p>Poor old ghost! He was for talking it all over +then and there and settled down on a soft bunch of +lilacs, and fell to smoking fog and chattering. It +did me good to see him so happy and I was inclined +to puff up a bit at my own success in the ha'nting +line. But it was not for long. The rattle of keys +warned us. The front door flew open and out +bounded the Rev. Mr. Spiegelnail, clearing the +steps with a jump, and flying over the lawn. All +thought of the late Robert J. Dinkle left me then, +for I had only a few feet start of my pastor. You +see I shouldn't a-hurried so only I sung bass in the +choir and I doubt if I could have convinced him +that I was working in the interests of Science and +Truth. Fleeing was instinct. Gates didn't matter. +They were took on the wing, and down the street +I went with the preacher's hot breath on my neck. +But I beat him. He tired after the first spurt +and was soon left behind, so I could double back +home to bed.</p> + +<p>Robert, he was for giving up entirely.</p> + +<p>“I simply won't work,” says he to me, when I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> +met him on the store porch that next night. “A +hundred years ago such a bit of ha'nting would +have caused the town to be abandoned; to-day it is +attributed to natural causes.”</p> + +<p>“Because,” says I, “we left behind such evidences +of material manifestations as strings and +weights on the parlor window.”</p> + +<p>“S'pose we work right in the house?” says he, +brightening up. “You can hide in the closet and +groan while I act.”</p> + +<p>Now did you ever hear anything innocenter than +that? Yet he meant it so well I did not even laugh.</p> + +<p>“I'm too fond of my pastor,” I says, “to let him +catch me in his closet. A far better spot for our +work is the short cut he takes home from church +after Wednesday evening meeting. We won't be +so loud, but more dignified, melancholier, and +tragic. You overacted last night, Robert,” I says. +“Next time pace up and down like you were deep +in thought and sigh gentle. Then if he should see +you it would be nice to take his arm and walk +home with him.”</p> + +<p>I think I had the right idea of ha'nting, and had +I been able to keep up Robert J. Dinkle's sperrits +and to train him regular I could have aroused the +slumbering imagination of Harmony, and brought +life to the burying-ground. But he was too easy +discouraged. He lacked perseverance. For if ever +Mr. Spiegelnail was on the point of seeing things +it was that night as he stepped out of the woods. +He had walked slow and meditating till he come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> +opposite where I was. Now I didn't howl or groan +or say anything particular. What I did was to +make a noise that wasn't animal, neither was it +human, nor was it regulation ghostly. As I had +stated to the late Robert J. Dinkle, what was +needed for ha'nting was something new and original. +And it certainly ketched Mr. Spiegelnail's +attention. I see him stop. I see his lantern shake. +It appeared like he was going to dive into the +bushes for me, but he changed his mind. On he +went, quicker, kind as if he wasn't afraid, yet was, +on to the open, where the moon brought out Robert +beautiful as he paced slowly up and down, his head +bowed like he was studying. Still the preacher +never saw him, stepped right through him, in fact. +I give the dreadful sound again. That stopped +him. He turned, raised the lantern before him, put +his hand to his ear, and seemed to be looking intense +and listening. Hardly ten feet away stood +Robert, all a-trembling with excitement, but the +light that showed through him was as steady as a +rock, as the dominie watched and listened, so quiet +and ca'm. He lowered the lantern, rubbed his +hands across his eyes, stepped forward and looked +again. The ghost was perfect. As I have stated, +he was excited and his sigh shook a little, but he +was full of dignity and sadity. He shouldn't have +lost heart so soon. I was sure then that he almost +showed up plain to the preacher and he would have +grown on Mr. Spiegelnail had he kept on ha'nting +him instead of giving in because that one night the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> +pastor walked on to the house fairly cool. He did +walk quicker, I know, and he did peer over his +shoulder twicet and I did hear the kitchen door +bang in a relieved way. But when we consider the +stuff that ghosts are made of we hadn't otter expect +them to be heroes. They are too foggy and +gauzy to have much perseverance—judging at +least from Robert J.</p> + +<p>“I simply can't work any more,” says he, when +I came up to him, as he sat there in the path, his +elbows on his knees, his head on his hands, his eyes +studying the ground most mournful.</p> + +<p>“But Robert——” I began, thinking to cheer +him up.</p> + +<p>He didn't hear; he wouldn't listen—just faded +away.</p> + +<p>Had he only held out there is no telling what he +might have done in his line. Often, since then, +have I thought of him and figgered on his tremendous +possibilities. That he had possibilities I am +sure. Had I only realized it that last night we +went out ha'nting, he never would have got away +from me. But the realization came too late. It +came in church the very next Sunday, with the +usual announcements after the long prayer, as Mr. +Spiegelnail was leaning over the pulpit eying the +congregation through big smoked glasses.</p> + +<p>Says he in a voice that was full of sadness: “I +regret to announce that for the first time in twenty +years union services will be held in this town next +Sabbath.” Setting in the choir, reading my music<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> +marks, I heard the preacher's words and started, +for I saw at once that something unusual was +happening, or had happened, or was about to +happen. “Unfortunately,” said Mr. Spiegelnail, +continuing, “I shall have to turn my pulpit over +to Brother Spiker of the Baptist Church, for my +failing eyesight renders it necessary that I go at +once to Philadelphia, to consult an oculist. Some +of my dear brethren may think this an unusual +step, but I should not desert them without cause. +They may think, perhaps, that I am making much +ado about nothing and could be treated just as +well in Harrisburg. To such let me explain that I +am suffering from astigmatism. It is not so much +that I cannot see, but that I sees things which I +know are not there—a defect in sight which I feel +needs the most expert attention. Sunday-school +at half-past nine; divine service at eleven. I take +for my text 'And the old men shall see visions.'”</p> + +<p>How I did wish the late Robert J. Dinkle could +have been in church that morning. It would have +so gladdened his heart to hear that he had partly +worked, for if he worked partly, then surely, in +time, he would have worked complete. For me, I +was just wild with excitement, and was so busy +thinking of him and how glad he would be, that I +didn't hear the sermon at all, and in planning new +ways of ha'nting I forgot to sing in the last anthem. +You see, I figgered lively times ahead for Harmony—a +general return to the good old times when folks +had imagination and had something more in their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> +heads than facts. I had only to get Robert again, +and with him working it would not be long till all +the old Berrys and Mrs. Klump showed up distinct +and plain. But I wasn't well posted in the weak +characters of shades, for I thought, of course, I +could find my sperrit friend easy when night came. +Yet I didn't. I set on the store porch shivering till +the moon was high up over the ridge. He just +wouldn't come. I called for him soft-like and got +no answer. Down to the burying-ground I went +and set on his headstone. It was the quietest place +you ever see. The clouds was scudding overhead; +the wind was sighing among the leaves; and +through the trees the moon was gleaming so clear +and distinct you could almost read the monnyments. +It was just a night when things should +have been lively there—a perfect night for ha'nting. +I called for Robert. I listened. He never +answered. I heard only a bull-frog a-bellering in +the pond, a whippoor-will whistling in the grove, +and a dog howling at the moon.</p> +<br /><br /> + + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244"></a></span> +<h3><a name="THE_GHOST_OF_MISER_BRIMPSON" id="THE_GHOST_OF_MISER_BRIMPSON"></a>THE GHOST OF MISER BRIMPSON</h3> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> EDEN PHILLPOTTS</h4> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p> +<div class="blockquot"><p>From <i>Tales of the Tenements</i>, by Eden Phillpotts. Published +in America by John Lane Company, and in England by +John Murray. By permission of the publishers and Eden +Phillpotts.</p></div> + + +<h2>The Ghost of Miser Brimpson</h2> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> EDEN PHILLPOTTS</h4> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>Penniless and proud he was; and that pair +don't draw a man to pleasant places when they +be in double harness. There's only one thing can +stop 'em if they take the bit between their teeth, +and that's a woman. So there, you might say, lies +the text of the tale of Jonathan Drake, of Dunnabridge +Farm, a tenement in the Forest of Dartymoor. +'Twas Naboth's vineyard to Duchy, and +the greedy thing would have given a very fair price +for it, without a doubt; but the Drake folk held +their land, and wouldn't part with it, and boasted +a freehold of fifty acres in the very midst of the +Forest. They did well, too, and moved with the +times, and kept their heads high for more generations +than I can call home; and then they comed to +what all families, whether gentle or simple, always +come to soon or late. And that's a black sheep for +bell-wether. Bad uns there'll be in every generation +of a race; but the trouble begins when a bad +un chances to be up top; and if the head of the +family is a drunkard, or a spendthrift, or built on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> +too free and flowing a pattern for this work-a-day +shop, then the next generation may look out for +squalls, as the sailor-men say.</p> + +<p>'Twas Jonathan's grandfather that did the harm +at Dunnabridge. He had sport in his blood, on +his mother's side, and 'twas horses ran him into +trouble. He backed 'em, and was ruined; and then +his son bred 'em, and didn't do very much better. +So, when the pair of 'em dropped out of the hunt, +and died with their backs to the wall, one after +t'other, it looked as if the game was up for them to +follow. By good chance, however, Tom Drake had +but one child—a boy—the Jonathan as I be telling +about; and when his father and grandfather passed +away, within a year of each other, Dunnabridge +was left to Tom's widow and her son, him then +being twenty-two. She was for selling Dunnabridge +and getting away from Dartymoor, because +the place had used her bad, and she hated the +sight of it; but Jonathan, a proud chap even then, +got the lawyers to look into the matter, and they +told him that 'twasn't vital for Dunnabridge to be +sold, though it might ease his pocket, and smooth +his future to do so, 'specially as Duchy wanted the +place rather bad, and had offered the value of it. +And Jonathan's mother was on the side of Duchy, +too, and went on her knees to the man to sell; but +he wouldn't. He had a bee in his bonnet sometimes, +and he said that all the Drakes would rise +out of their graves to Widecombe churchyard, and +haunt his rising up and going down if he were to do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> +such a thing, just to suit his own convenience, and +be rid of the place. So he made a plan with the +creditors. It figured out that his father and grandfather +had owed near a thousand pound between +them; and Jonathan actually set himself to pay it +off to the last penny. 'Twas the labor of years; +but by the time he was thirty-three he done it—at +what cost of scrimping and screwing, only his +mother might have told. She never did tell, however, +for she died two year before the last item was +paid. Some went as far as to declare that 'twas +her son's miserly ways hurried her into her grave; +and, for all I know, they may have done so, for 'tis +certain, in her husband's life, she had a better time. +Tom was the large-hearted, juicy, easy sort, as +liked meat on the table, and plenty to wash it +down; and he loved Mercy Jane Drake very well; +and, when he died, the only thought that troubled +him was leaving her; and the last thing he advised +his son was to sell Dunnabridge, and take his +mother off the Moor down to the “in country” +where she'd come from.</p> + +<p>But Jonathan was made of different stuff, and +'twas rumored by old people that had known the +family for several generations that he favored an +ancient forefather by name of Brimpson Drake. +This bygone man was a miser and the richest of +the race. He'd lived in the days when we were at +war with France and America, and when Princetown +sprang up, and a gert war-prison was built +there to cage all the chaps we got on our hands<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> +through winning such a lot o' sea battles. And +Miser Brimpson was said to have made thousands +by helping rich fellows to escape from the prison. +Truth and falsehood mixed made up his story as +'twas handed down. But one thing appeared to +be fairly true about it; which was, that when the +miser died, and Dunnabridge went to his cousin, +the horseracer, not a penny of his fortune ever came +into the sight of living men. So some said 'twas all +nonsense, and he never had no money at all, but +only pretended to it; and others again, declared +that he knew too well who'd follow in his shoes at +Dunnabridge, and hid his money accordingly, so +that no Drake should have it. For he hated his +heirs as only a miser can hate 'em.</p> + +<p>So things stood when Mercy Jane died and +Jonathan was left alone. He paid all his relations' +debts, and he had his trouble and the honor of +being honorable for his pains. Everybody respected +him something wonderful; but, all the same, +a few of his mother's friends always did say that +'twas a pity he put his dead father's good name +afore his living mother's life. However, we'm not +built in the pattern of our fellow-creatures, and 'tis +only fools that waste time blaming a man for being +himself.</p> + +<p>Jonathan went his stern way; and then, in the +lonely days after his parent was taken, when he +lived at Dunnabridge, with nought but two hinds +and a brace of sheep-dogs, 'twas suddenly borne +in upon his narrow sight that there might be other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> +women still in the world, though his mother had +gone out of it. And he also discovered, doubtless, +that a home without a woman therein be merely +the cruel mockery of what a home should be.</p> + +<p>A good few folk watched Jonathan to see what +he'd do about it, and no doubt a maiden here and +there was interested too; because, though a terrible +poor man, he wasn't bad to look at, though rather +hard about the edge of the jaw, and rather short +and stern in his manners to human creatures and +beasts alike.</p> + +<p>And then beginned his funny courting—if you +can call it courting, where a poor man allows hisself +the luxury of pride at the wrong time, and +makes a show of hisself in consequence. At least +that's my view; but you must know that a good +few, quite as wise as me, took t'other side, and held +that Jonathan covered his name with glory when +he changed his mind about Hyssop Burges. That +was her bitter name, but a pleasanter girl never +walked on shoe-leather. She was Farmer Stonewer's +niece to White Works, and he took her in +for a charity, and always said that 'twas the best +day's work as ever he had done. A straight, hardworking, +cheerful sort of a girl, with nothing to +name about her very special save a fine shape and +a proud way of holding her head in the air and +looking her fellow creatures in the eyes. Proud +she was for certain, and terrible partickler as to her +friends; but there happened to be that about Jonathan +that made flint to her steel. He knowed she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> +was penniless, or he'd not have looked at her twice; +and when, after a short, fierce sort of courting, she +took him, everybody felt pleased about it but +Farmer Stonewer, who couldn't abide the thought +of losing Hyssop, though his wife had warned him +any time this four year that 'twas bound to happen.</p> + +<p>Farmer and the girl were sitting waiting for +Jonathan one night; and she was a bit nervous, +and he was trying for to calm her.</p> + +<p>“Jonathan must be told,” she says. “It can't +go on no longer.”</p> + +<p>“Then tell him,” says her uncle. “Good +powers!” he says; “to see you, one would think +the news was the worst as could ever fall between +a pair o' poor lovers, instead of the best.”</p> + +<p>“I know him a lot better than you,” she tells +Farmer; “and I know how plaguey difficult he +can be where money's the matter. He very near +throwed me over when, in a weak moment, I axed +him to let me buy my own tokening-ring. Red as +a turkey's wattles did he flame, and said I'd insulted +him; and now, when he hears the secret, I +can't for the life of me guess how he'll take it.”</p> + +<p>“'Twas a pity you didn't tell him when he +offered for you,” declared Hyssop's aunt. “Proud +he is as a silly peacock, and terrible frightened of +seeming to look after money, or even casting his +eye where it bides; but he came to you without any +notion of the windfall, and he loved you for yourself, +like an honest man; and you loved him the +same way; and right well you know that if your old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> +cousin had left you five thousand pound instead of +five hundred, Jonathan Drake was the right chap +for you. He can't blame himself, for not a soul on +Dartymoor but us three has ever heard tell about +the money.”</p> + +<p>“But he'll blame me for having money at all,” +answered the girl. “He said a dozen times afore +he offered for me, that he'd never look at a woman +if she'd got more cash than what he had himself. +That's why I couldn't bring myself to confess to it—and +lose him. And, after we was tokened, it got +to be harder still.”</p> + +<p>“Why not bide till you'm married, then?” asked +Mrs. Stonewer. “Since it have gone so long, let it +go longer, and surprise him with the news on the +wedding-night—eh, James?”</p> + +<p>“No,” answered Farmer. “'Enough is as good +as a feast.' 'Tis squandering blessings to do that +at such a time. Keep the news till some rainy +day, when he's wondering how to get round a tight +corner. That's the moment to tell him; and that's +the moment he's least likely to make a face at the +news.”</p> + +<p>But Hyssop wouldn't put it off no more; she +said as she'd not have any further peace till the +murder was out. And that very night, sure enough +when Jonathan comed over from Dunnabridge for +his bit of love-making, and the young couple had +got the farm parlor to themselves, she plumped it +out, finding him in a very kindly mood. They +never cuddled much, for he wasn't built that way;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> +but he'd not disdain to sit beside her and put his +arm around her now and again, when she picked +up his hand and drew it round. Then, off and on, +she'd rub her cheek against his mutton-chop +whiskers, till he had to kiss her in common politeness.</p> + +<p>Well, Hyssop got it out—Lord alone knows how, +as she said afterwards. She got it out, and told +him that an old, aged cousin had died, and left +her a nice little skuat<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> of money; and how she'd +never touched a penny but let it goody in the bank; +and how she prayed and hoped 'twould help 'em to +Dunnabridge; and how, of course, he must have +the handling of it, being a man, and so cruel clever +in such things. She went on and on, pretty well +frightened to stop and hear him. But, after she'd +said it over about a dozen times, her breath failed +her, and she shut her mouth, and tried to smile, +and looked up terrible anxious and pleading at +Jonathan.</p> + +<p>His hard gray eyes bored into her like a brace of +gimlets, and in return for all her talk he axed but +one question.</p> + +<p>“How long have you had this here money?” +he said.</p> + +<p>She told the truth, faltering and shaking under +his glare.</p> + +<p>“Four years and upwards, Jonathan.”</p> + +<p>“That's years and years afore I axed you to +marry me?”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes, Jonathan.”</p> + +<p>“And you remember what I said about never +marrying anybody as had more than what I have?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Jonathan.”</p> + +<p>“And you full know how many a time I told you +that, after I paid off all my father's debts, I had +nought left, and 'twould be years afore I could +build up anything to call money?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Jonathan.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, then!” he cried out, and his brow +crooked down and his fists clenched. “Very well, +you've deceived me deliberate, and if you'd do +that in one thing, you would in another. I'm +going out of this house this instant moment, and +you can tell your relations why 'tis. I'm terrible +sorry, Hyssop Burges, for no man will ever love +you better than what I did; and so you'd have +lived to find out when all this here courting tomfoolery +was over, and you'd come to be my wife. +But now I'll have none of you, for you've played with +me. And so—so I'll bid you good-bye!”</p> + +<p>He went straight out without more speech; and +she tottered, weeping, to her uncle and aunt. +They couldn't believe their senses; and Jimmy +Stonewer declared thereon that any man who +could make himself such a masterpiece of a fool +as Jonathan had done that night, was better out of +the marriage state than in it. He told Hyssop as +she'd had a marvelous escape from a prize zany; +and his wife said the same. But the girl couldn't +see it like that. She knowed Jonathan weren't a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> +prize zany, and his raging pride didn't anger her, +for she admired it something wonderful, and it +only made her feel her loss all the crueller to see +what a terrible rare, haughty sort of a chap he was. +There were a lot of other men would have had her, +and twice as many again, if they'd known about +the money; but they all seemed as tame as robins +beside her hawk of a Jonathan. She had plenty of +devil in her, too, when it came to the fighting +pitch; and now, while he merely said that the +match was broken off through a difference of opinion, +and gave no reason for it, she set to work with +all her might to get him back again, and used her +love-sharpened wits so well as she knew how, to +best him into matrimony.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>In truth she made poor speed. Jonathan was +always civil afterwards; but you might as soon +have tried to thaw an iceberg with a box of matches +as to get him round again by gentleness and affection. +He was the sort that can't be won with kindness. +He felt he'd treated the world better than +the world had treated him, and the thought +shriveled his heart a bit. Always shy and suspicious, +you might say; and yet, underneath it, the +most honorable and upright and high-minded man +you could wish to meet. Hyssop loved him like +her life, and she got a bit poorly in health after +their sad quarrel. Then chance willed it that,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> +going down from Princetown to Plymouth by train—to +see a chemist, and get something to make her +eat—who should be in the selfsame carriage but +Mr. Drake and his hind, Thomas Parsons.</p> + +<p>There was others there, too; and it fell out that +an old fellow as knowed Jonathan's grandfather +before him, brought up the yarn about Miser +Brimpson, and asked young Drake if he took any +stock in it.</p> + +<p>Of course the man pooh-poohed such foolery, +and told the old chap not to talk nonsense like +that in the ear of the nineteenth century; but when +Jonathan and Parsons had got out of the train—which +they did do at Yelverton station—Hyssop, +as knowed the old man, axed him to tell more +about the miser; and he explained, so well as he +knew how, that Brimpson Drake had made untold +thousands out of the French and American prisoners, +and that, without doubt, 'twas all hidden even +to this day at Dunnabridge.</p> + +<p>“Of course Jonathan's too clever to believe such +a tale—like his father before him; but his grandfather +believed it, and the old blid spent half his +time poking about the farm. Only, unfortunately, +he didn't have no luck. But 'tis there for sure; and +if Jonathan had enough faith he'd come by it—not +by digging and wasting time and labor, but by +doing what is right and proper when you'm dealing +with such matters.”</p> + +<p>“And what might that be?” axed Miss Burges.</p> + +<p>Just then, however, the train for Plymouth ran<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> +up, and the old man told her that he'd explain +some other time.</p> + +<p>“This generation laughs at such things,” he +said; “but they laugh best who laugh last, and, for +all we can say to the contrary, 'tis nought but his +conceit and pride be standing between that stiff-necked +youth and the wealth of a bank.”</p> + +<p>Hyssop, she thought a lot upon this; but she +hadn't no need to go to the old chap again, as she +meant to do, for when she got home, her uncle—Farmer +Stonewer—knowed all about the matter, +and told her how 'twas a very rooted opinion +among the last generation that a miser's spirit +never could leave its hidden hoard till the stuff was +brought to light, and in human hands once more.</p> + +<p>“Millions of good money has been found in that +manner, if all we hear is true,” declared Farmer +Jimmy; “and if one miser has been known to walk, +which nobody can deny, then why shouldn't +another? Them as believe in such dark things—and +I don't say I do, and I don't say I don't—them +as know of such mysteries happening in their +own recollection, or in the memory of their friends, +would doubtless say that Miser Brimpson still +creeps around his gold now and again; and if that +money be within the four corners of Dunnabridge +Farm, and if Jonathan happed to be on the lookout +on the rightful night and at the rightful +moment, 'tis almost any odds but he might see +his forbear sitting over his money-bags like a hen +on a clutch of eggs, and so recover the hoard.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p> + +<p>“But faith's needed for such a deed,” Mrs. +Stonewer told her niece; “and that pig-headed +creature haven't no faith. Too proud, he is, to +believe in anything he don't understand. 'Twas +even so with Lucifer afore him. If you told him—Jonathan—this +news, he'd rather let the money +go than set off ghost-hunting in cold blood. Yet +there it is: and a humbler-minded fashion of chap, +with the Lord on his side, and a trustful heart in +his bosom, might very like recover all them tubs +of cash the miser come by.”</p> + +<p>“And then he'd have thousands to my poor +tens,” said Hyssop. “Not that he'd ever come +back to me now, I reckon.”</p> + +<p>But, all the same, she knowed by the look in +Jonathan's eye when they met, that he loved her +still, and that his silly, proud heart was hungering +after her yet, though he'd rather have been drawn +under a harrow than show a spark of what was +burning there.</p> + +<p>And so, upon this nonsense about a buried +treasure she set to work again to use her brains, +and see if there might be any road out of the trouble +by way of Miser Brimpson's ghost.</p> + +<p>What she did, none but them as helped her ever +knew, until the story comed round to me; but +'twas the cleverest thing that ever I heard of a +maiden doing, and it worked a wonder. In fact, I +can't see but a single objection to the plot, though +that was a serious thing for the girl. It lay in the +fact that there had to be a secret between Hyssop<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> +and her husband; and she kept it close as the grave +until the grave itself closed over him. Yet 'twas +an innocent secret, too; and, when all's said, 'tisn't +a wedded pair in five hundred as haven't each +their one little cupboard fast locked, with the key +throwed away.</p> + +<p>Six months passed by, and Jonathan worked as +only he knowed how to work, and tried to forget +his sad disappointment by dint of toil. Early and +late he labored, and got permission to reclaim a +bit of moor for a “newtake,” and so added a very +fair three acres to his farm. He noticed about this +time that his hind, Parsons, did oft drag up the +subject of Miser Brimpson Drake; and first Jonathan +laughed, and then he was angered, and bade +Thomas hold his peace. But, though a very obedient +and humble sort of man, Parsons would hark +back to the subject, and tell how his father had +known a man who was own brother to a miser; and +how, when the miser died, his own brother had seen +him clear as truth in the chimley-corner of his +room three nights after they'd buried him; and +how they made search, and found, not three feet +from where the ghost had stood, a place in the wall +with seventeen golden sovereigns hid in it, and a +white witch's cure for glanders. Thomas Parsons +swore on the Book to this; and he said, as a certain +fact, that New Year's Night was the time most +misers walked; and he advised Jonathan not to be +dead to his own interests.</p> + +<p>“At least, as a thinking man, that believes in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> +religion and the powers of the air, in Bible word, +you might give it a chance,” said Thomas; and +then Jonathan told him to shut his mouth, and +not shame Dunnabridge by talking such childish +nonsense.</p> + +<p>The next autumn Jonathan went up beyond +Exeter to buy some of they black-faced, horned +Scotch sheep, and he wanted for Parsons to go +with him; but his man falled ill the night afore, +and so young Hacker went instead.</p> + +<p>Drake reckoned then that Thomas Parsons +would have to leave, for Dunnabridge weren't a +place for sick folk; and he'd made up his mind after +he came back to turn the old chap off; but Thomas +was better when the master got home, so the question +of sacking him was let be, and Jonathan contented +himself by telling Tom that, if he falled ill +again, 'twould be the last time. And Parsons said +that was as it should be; but he hoped that at his +age—merely sixty-five or thereabout—he wouldn't +be troubled with his breathing parts again for half +a score o' years at least. He added that he'd done +his work as usual while the master was away; but +he didn't mention that Hyssop Burges had made +so bold as to call at Dunnabridge with a pony and +cart, and that she'd spent a tidy long time there, +and gone all over the house and farmyard, among +other places, afore she drove off again.</p> + +<p>And the next chapter of the story was told by +Jonathan himself to his two men on the first day +of the following year.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was but little light of morning just then, +and the three of 'em were putting down some +bread and bacon and a quart of tea by candlelight +in the Dunnabridge kitchen, when Thomas saw +that his master weren't eating nothing to name. +Instead, he went out to the barrel and drawed +himself a pint of ale, and got along by the peat +fire with it, and stuck his boots so nigh the scads +as he dared without burning 'em.</p> + +<p>“What's amiss?” said Thomas. “Don't say +you'm sick, master. And if you be, I lay no liquor +smaller than brandy will fetch you round.”</p> + +<p>“I ban't sick,” answered Jonathan shortly.</p> + +<p>He seemed in doubt whether to go on. Then he +resolved to do so.</p> + +<p>“There was a man in the yard last night,” he +said; “and, if I thought as either of you chaps +knowed anything about it, I'd turn you off this +instant, afore you'd got the bacon out of your +throats.”</p> + +<p>“A man? Never!” cried Parsons.</p> + +<p>“How was it the dog didn't bark?” asked +Hacker.</p> + +<p>“How the devil do I know why he didn't bark?” +answered Jonathan, dark as night, and staring in +the fire. One side of his face was red with the +flames, and t'other side blue as steel along of the +daylight just beginning to filter in at the window.</p> + +<p>“All I can say is this,” he added. “I turned in +at half-after ten, just after that brace of old fools +to Brownberry went off to see the New Year in.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> +I slept till midnight; then something woke me with +a start. What 'twas, I can't tell, but some loud +sound near at hand, no doubt. I was going off +again when I heard more row—a steady sound +repeated over and over. And first I thought 'twas +owls; and then I heard 'twas not. You might have +said 'twas somebody thumping on a barrel; but, +at any rate, I woke up, and sat up, and found the +noise was in the yard.</p> + +<p>“I looked out of my chamber window then, and +the moon was bright as day, and the stars sparkling +likewise; and there, down by 'the Judge's Table' +where the thorn-tree grows, I see a man standing +by the old barrel as plain as I see you chaps now.”</p> + +<p>“The Judge's Table” be a wonnerful curiosity +at Dunnabridge, and if you go there you'll do well +to ax to see it. 'Tis a gert slab of moorstone said +to have come from Crokern Torr, where the tinners +held theer parliament in the ancient times. Now +it bides over a water-trough with a white-thorn +tree rising up above.</p> + +<p>Jonathan took his breath when he'd got that +far, and fetched his pipe out of his pocket and +lighted it. Then he drank off half the beer, and +spat in the fire, and went on.</p> + +<p>“A man so tall as me, if not taller. He'd got one +of them old white beaver hats on his head, and he +wore a flowing white beard, so long as my plough-horse's +tail, and he walked up and down, up and +down over the stones, like a sailor walks up and +down on the deck of a ship. I shouted to the chap,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> +but he didn't take no more notice than the moon. +Up and down he went; and then I told him, if he +wasn't off inside two minutes, I'd get my fowling-piece +and let fly. Still he paid no heed; and I don't +mind saying to you men that, for half a second, I +felt creepy-crawly and goose-flesh down the back. +But 'twas only the cold, I reckon, for my window +was wide open, and I'd been leaning out of it for a +good while into ten degrees of frost.</p> + +<p>“After that, I got angry, and went down house +and hitched the gun off the hooks over the mantelpiece, +and ran out, just as I was, in nought but my +boots and my nightshirt. The hour was so still +as the grave at first, and the moon shone on the +river far below and lit up the eaves and windows; +and then, through the silence, I heard Widecombe +bells ringing in the New Year. But the old night-bird +in his top hat was gone. Not a hair of his +beard did he leave behind. I looked about, and +then up came the dog, barking like fury, not knowing +who I was, dressed that way, till he heard my +voice. And that's the tale; and who be that curious +old rascal I'd much like to know.”</p> + +<p>They didn't answer at first, and the daylight +gained on 'em. Then old Parsons spoke up, and +wagged his head and swore that 'twas no man his +master had seen, but a creature from the other +world.</p> + +<p>“I'll lay my life,” he said, “'twas the spectrum +of Miser Brimpson as you saw walking; and I'll +take oath by the New Year that 'twas his way to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> +show where his stuff be buried. For God's sake,” +he says, “if you don't want to get into trouble +with unknown creatures, go out and pull up the +cobblestones, and see if there's anything underneath +'em.”</p> + +<p>But Jonathan made as though the whole thing +was nonsense, and wouldn't let neither Thomas +nor Hacker move a pebble. Only, the next day, +he went off to a very old chap called Samuel Windeatt, +whose father had been a boy at the time of +the War Prison, and was said to have seen and +known Miser Brimpson in the flesh. And the old +man declared that, in his childish days, he'd heard +of the miser, and that he certainly wore a beaver +hat and had a white beard a yard long. So Jonathan +came home again more thoughtful than afore, +and finally—though he declared that he was +ashamed to do it—he let Tom overpersuade him; +and two days after the three men set to work where +Drake had seen the spectrum.</p> + +<p>They dug and they dug, this way and that; and +Jonathan found nought, and Parsons found +nought; but Hacker came upon a box, and they +dragged it out of the earth, and underneath of it +was another box like the first. They was a pair of +old rotten wood chests, by the look of them, made +of boards nailed together with rusty nails. No +locks or keys they had; but that was no matter, +for they fell abroad at a touch, and inside of them +was a lot of plate—candlesticks, snuffers, tea-kettles, +table silver, and the like.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Thunder!” cried out Jonathan. “'Tis all +pewter trash, not worth a five-pound note! Us'll +dig again.”</p> + +<p>And dig they did for a week, till the farmyard +in that place was turned over like a trenched +kitchen-garden. But not another teaspoon did +they find.</p> + +<p>Meantime, however, somebody as understood +such things explained to young Drake that the +stuff unearthed was not pewter, nor yet Britannia +metal neither, but old Sheffield plate, and worth +plenty of good money at that.</p> + +<p>Jonathan felt too mazed with the event to do +anything about it for a month; then he went to +Plymouth, and took a few pieces of the find in his +bag. And the man what he showed 'em to was so +terrible interested that nothing would do but he +must come up to Dunnabridge and see the lot. He +offered two hundred and fifty pound for the things +on the nail; so Jonathan saw very clear that they +must be worth a good bit more. They haggled for +a week, and finally the owner went up to Exeter +and got another chap to name a price. In the long +run, the dealers halved the things, and Jonathan +comed out with a clear three hundred and fifty-four +pound.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>He wasn't very pleased to talk about his luck, +and inquisitive people got but little out of him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> +on the subject; but, of course, Parsons and Hacker +spoke free and often on the subject, for 'twas the +greatest adventure as had ever come to them in +their lives; and, from telling the tale over and over +old Parsons got to talk about it as if he'd seen the +ghost himself.</p> + +<p>Then, after he'd chewed over the matter for a +space of three or four months, and spring was come +again, Jonathan Drake went off one night to White +Works, just the same as he used to do when he was +courting Hyssop Burges; and there was the little +party as usual, with Mrs. Stonewer knitting, and +Farmer reading yesterday's newspaper, and Hyssop +sewing in her place by her aunt.</p> + +<p>“Well!” says Farmer Jimmy, “wonders never +cease! And to see you again here be almost so big +a wonder as that they tell about of the old miser's +tea-things. I'm sure we all give you joy, Jonathan; +and I needn't tell you as we was cruel pleased to +hear about it.”</p> + +<p>The young man thanked them very civilly, and +said how 'twas a coorious come-along-of-it, and +he didn't hardly know what to think of the matter +even to that day.</p> + +<p>“I should reckon 'twas a bit of nonsense what +I'd dreamed,” he said; “but money's money, as +who should know better than me? And, by the +same token, I want a few words with Hyssop if +she'm willing to give me ten minutes of her time.”</p> + +<p>“You'm welcome, Mr. Drake,” she said.</p> + +<p>He started at the surname; but she got up, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> +they went off just in the usual way to the parlor; +and when they was there, she sat down in her old +corner of the horsehair sofa and looked at him. +But he didn't sit down—not at first. He walked +about fierce and talked fierce.</p> + +<p>“I'll ax one question afore I go on, and, if the +answer's what I fear, I'll trouble you no more,” he +said. “In a word, be you tokened again? I +suppose you be, for you're not the sort to go begging. +Say it quick if 'tis so, and I'll be off and +trouble you no further.”</p> + +<p>“No, Mr. Drake. I'm free as the day you—you +throwed me over,” she answered, in a very quiet +little voice.</p> + +<p>He snorted at that, but was too mighty thankful +to quarrel with the words. She could see he began +to grow terrible excited now; and he walked up +and down, taking shorter and shorter strides this +way and that, like a hungry caged tiger as knows +his bit of horse-flesh be on the way.</p> + +<p>At last he bursts out again.</p> + +<p>“There was a lot of lies told about that old plate +us found at Dunnabridge. But the truth of the +matter is, that I sold it for three hundred and fifty-four +pounds.”</p> + +<p>“So Tom Parsons told uncle. A wonderful thing; +and we sat up all night talking about it, Mr. Drake.”</p> + +<p>“For God's sake call me 'Jonathan'!” he cried +out; “and tell me—tell me what the figure of your +legacy was. You must tell me—you can't withhold +it. 'Tis life or death—to me.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span></p> + +<p>She'd never seen him so excited, but very well +knowed what was in his mind.</p> + +<p>“If you must know, you must,” she answered. +“I thought I told you when—when——”</p> + +<p>“No, you didn't. I wouldn't bide to hear. +Whatever 'twas, you'd got more than me, and that +was all I cared about; but now, if by good fortune +'tis less than mine, you understand——”</p> + +<p>“Of course 'tis less. A hundred and eighty +pound and the interest—a little over two hundred +in all—is what I've gotten.”</p> + +<p>“Thank God!” he said.</p> + +<p>Then he axed her if she could marry him still, +or if she knew too much about his ways and his +ideas to care about doing so.</p> + +<p>And she took him again.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>You see, Hyssop Burges was my mother, and +when father died I had the rights of the story from +her. By that time the old people at White Works +and Tom Parsons was all gone home, and the secret +remained safe enough with Hyssop herself.</p> + +<p>The great difficulty was to put half her money +and more, slap into Jonathan's hands without his +knowing how it got there; and, even when the +game with the ghost was hit upon, 'twas hard to +know how to do it clever. Hyssop wanted to hide +golden sovereigns at Dunnabridge; but her uncle, +with wonnerful wit, pointed out that they'd all be +dated; and to get three hundred sovereigns and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> +more a hundred years old could never have been +managed. Then old Thomas, who was in the +secret, of course, and played the part of Miser +Brimpson, and got five pounds for doing it so +clever, and another five after from his master, +when the stuff was found—he thought upon +trinkums and jewels; and finally Mrs. Stonewer, +as had a friend in the business, said that Sheffield +plate would do the trick. And she was right. The +plate was bought for three hundred and eighty +pound, and kept close at White Works till 'twas +known that Jonathan meant to go away and bide +away some days. Then my mother drove across +with it; and Thomas made the cases wi' old rotten +boards, and they drove a slant hole under the +cobbles, and got all vitty again long afore young +Drake came back home.</p> + +<p>“Me and Jonathan was wedded in the fall of +that year,” said my mother to me when she told +the tale. “And, come the next New Year's Night, +he was at our chamber window as the clock struck +twelve, and bided there looking out into the yard +for an hour, keen as the hawk that he was. He +thought I must be asleep; but well I knowed he +was seeking for an old man in a beaver hat wi' a +long white beard, and well I knowed he'd never +see him again. Of course your father took good +care not to tell me the next morning that he'd been +on the lookout for the ghost.”</p> + +<p>And my mother, in her own last days, oft dwelt +on that trick; and sometimes she'd say, as the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> +time for meeting father got nearer and nearer, “I +wonder if 'twill make any difference in heaven, +where no secrets be hid?” And, knowing father so +well as I had, I felt very sure as it might make a +mighty lot of difference. So, in my crafty way, I +hedged, and told mother that, for my part, I felt +sartain there were some secrets that wouldn't even +be allowed to come out at Judgment Day, for fear +of turning heaven into t'other place; and that this +was one of 'em. She always used to fret at that, +however.</p> + +<p>“I want for it to come out,” she'd say. “And, +if Jonathan don't know, I shall certainly tell him. +I've kept it in long enough, and I can't trust myself +to do it no more. He've got to know, and, +with all eternity to get over it and forgive me in, +I have a right to be hopeful that he will.”</p> + +<p>Hyssop Drake died in that fixed resolve; and +I'm sure I trust that, when 'tis my turn to join my +parents again, I shall find no shadow between 'em. +But there's a lot of doubt about it—knowing +father.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Skuat, windfall.</p></div> +</div> +<br /><br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="THE_HAUNTED_PHOTOGRAPH" id="THE_HAUNTED_PHOTOGRAPH"></a>THE HAUNTED PHOTOGRAPH</h3> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272"></a></span></p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> RUTH McENERY STUART</h4> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span> +<div class="blockquot"><p>From <i>Harper's Bazar</i>, June, 1909. By permission of <i>Harper's +Bazar</i>.</p></div> + + + +<h2>The Haunted Photograph</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> RUTH McENERY STUART</h4> + +<p>To the ordinary observer it was just a common +photograph of a cheap summer hotel. It hung +sumptuously framed in plush, over the Widow +Morris's mantel, the one resplendent note in an +otherwise modest home, in a characteristic Queen +Anne village.</p> + +<p>One had only to see the rapt face of its owner +as she sat in her weeds before the picture, which +she tearfully pronounced “a strikin' likeness,” to +sympathize with the townsfolk who looked askance +at the bereaved woman, even while they bore +with her delusion, feeling sure that her sudden +sorrow had set her mind agog.</p> + +<p>When she had received the picture through the +mail, some months before the fire which consumed +the hotel—a fire through which she had not passed, +but out of which she had come a widow—she +proudly passed it around among the friends waiting +with her at the post-office, replying to their questions +as they admired it:</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes! That's where he works—if you can +call it work. He's the head steward in it. All that +row o' winders where you see the awnin's down,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> +they're his—an' them that ain't down, they're his, +too—that is to say, it's his jurisdiction.</p> + +<p>“You see, he's got the whip hand over the cook +an' the sto'eroom, an' that key don't go out o' his +belt unless he knows who's gettin' what—an' he's +firm. Morris always was. He's like the iron law +of the Ephesians.”</p> + +<p>“What key?”</p> + +<p>It was an old lady who held the picture at arm's +length, the more closely to scan it, who asked the +question. She asked it partly to know, as neither +man nor key appeared in the photograph, and +partly to parry the “historic allusion”—a disturbing +sort of fire for which Mrs. Morris was rather +noted and which made some of her most loyal +townsfolk a bit shy of her.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I ain't referrin' to the picture,” she hastened +to explain. “I mean the keys thet he always +carries in his belt. The reg'lar joke there is to call +him 'St. Peter,' an' he takes it in good part, for, he +declares, if there <i>is</i> such a thing <i>as</i> a similitude to +the kingdom o' Heaven <i>in</i> a hotel, why, it's in the +providential supply department which, in a manner, +hangs to his belt. He always humors a joke—'specially +on himself.”</p> + +<p>No one will ever know through what painful +periods of unrequited longing the Widow Morris +had sought solace in this, her only cherished “relic,” +after the “half hour of sky-works” which had +made her, in her own vernacular, “a lonely, conflagrated +widow, with a heart full of ashes,” before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> +the glad moment when it was given her to discern +in it an unsuspected and novel value. First had +come, as a faint gleam of comfort, the reflection +that although her dear lost one was not in evidence +in the picture, he had really been inside the building +when the photograph was taken, and so, of +course, <i>he must be in there yet</i>!</p> + +<p>At first she experienced a slight disappointment +that her man was not visible, at door or window. +But it was only a passing regret. It was really +better to feel him surely and broadly within—at +large in the great house, free to pass at will from +one room to another. To have had him fixed, no +matter how effectively, would have been a limitation. +As it was, she pressed the picture to her +bosom as she wondered if, perchance, he would not +some day come out of his hiding to meet her.</p> + +<p>It was a muffled pleasure and tremulously entertained +at first, but the very whimsicality of it was +an appeal to her sensitized imagination, and so, +when finally the thing did really happen, it is small +wonder that it came somewhat as a shock.</p> + +<p>It appears that one day, feeling particularly +lonely and forlorn, and having no other comfort, +she was pressing her tear-stained face against the +row of window-shutters in the room without awnings, +this being her nearest approach to the alleged +occupant's bosom, when she was suddenly startled +by a peculiar swishing sound, as of wind-blown rain, +whereupon she lifted her face to perceive that it +was indeed raining, and then, glancing back at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> +photograph, she distinctly saw her husband rushing +from one window to another, drawing down the +sashes on the side of the house that would have +been exposed to the real shower whose music was +in her ears.</p> + +<p>This was a great discovery, and, naturally +enough, it set her weeping, for, she sobbed, it made +her feel, for a minute, that she had lost her widowhood +and that, after the shower, he'd be coming +home.</p> + +<p>It might well make any one cry to suddenly lose +the pivot upon which his emotions are swung. At +any rate, Mrs. Morris cried. She said that she +cried all night, first because it seemed so spooky to +see him whose remains she had so recently buried +on faith, waiving recognition in the débris, dashing +about now in so matter-of-fact a way.</p> + +<p>And then she wept because, after all, he did not +come.</p> + +<p>This was the formal beginning of her sense of +personal companionship in the picture—companionship, +yes, of delight in it, for there is even +delight in tears—in some situations in life. Especially +is this true of one whose emotions are her +only guides, as seems to have been the case with +the Widow Morris.</p> + +<p>After seeing him draw the window-sashes—and +he had drawn them <i>down</i>, ignoring her presence—she +sat for hours, waiting for the rain to stop. It +seemed to have set in for a long spell, for when she +finally fell asleep, “from sheer disappointment,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> +'long towards morning,” it was still raining, but +when she awoke the sun shone and all the windows +in the picture were up again.</p> + +<p>This was a misleading experience, however, for +she soon discovered that she could not count upon +any line of conduct by the man in the hotel, as the +fact that it had one time rained in the photograph +at the same time that it rained outside was but a +coincidence and she was soon surprised to perceive +all quiet along the hotel piazza, not even an awning +flapping, while the earth, on her plane, was torn +by storms.</p> + +<p>On one memorable occasion when her husband +had appeared, flapping the window-panes from +within with a towel, she had thought for one brief +moment that he was beckoning to her, and that +she might have to go to him, and she was beginning +to experience terror, with shortness of breath and +other premonitions of sudden passing, when she +discovered that he was merely killing flies, and she +flurriedly fanned herself with the asbestos mat +which she had seized from the stove beside her, +and staggered out to a seat under the mulberries, +as she stammered:</p> + +<p>“I do declare, Morris'll be the death of me yet. +He's 'most as much care to me dead as he was +alive—I made sure—made sure he'd come after +me!”</p> + +<p>Then, feeling her own fidelity challenged, she +hastened to add:</p> + +<p>“Not that I hadn't rather go to him than to take<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> +any trip in the world, but—but I never did fancy +that hotel, and since I've got used to seein' him +there so constant, I feel sure that's where we'd put +up. My belief is, anyway, that if there's hereafters +for some things, there's hereafters for all. +From what I can gather, I reckon I'm a kind of a +cross between a Swedenborgian and a Gates-ajar—that, +of course, engrafted on to a Methodist. Now, +that hotel, when it was consumed by fire, which +to it was the same as mortal death, why, it either +ascended into Heaven, in smoke, or it fell, in ashes—to +the other place. If it died worthy, like as not +it's undergoin' repairs now for a 'mansion,' jasper +cupalos, an'—but, of course, such as that could +be run up in a twinklin'.</p> + +<p>“Still, from what I've heard, it's more likely +gone <i>down</i> to its deserts. It would seem hard for a +hotel with so many awned-off corridors an' palmed +embrasures with teet-a-teet sofas, to live along +without sin.”</p> + +<p>She stood on her step-ladder, wiping the face of +the picture as she spoke, and as she began to back +down she discovered the cat under her elbow, glaring +at the picture.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Kitty! Spit away!” she exclaimed. +“Like as not you see even more than I do!”</p> + +<p>And as she slipped the ladder back into the +closet, she remarked—this to herself, strictly:</p> + +<p>“If it hadn't 'a' been for poor puss, I'd 'a' had +a heap more pleasure out o' this picture than +what I have had—or will be likely to have again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> +The way she's taken on, I've almost come to hate +it!”</p> + +<p>A serpent had entered her poor little Eden—even +the green-eyed monster constrictor, who, if +given full swing, would not spare a bone of her +meager comfort.</p> + +<p>A neighbor who chanced to come in at the time, +unobserved overheard the last remark, and Mrs. +Morris, seeing that she was there, continued in an +unchanged tone, while she gave her a chair:</p> + +<p>“Of course, Mis' Withers, you can easy guess +who I refer to. I mean that combly-featured +wench that kep' the books an' answered the telephone +at the hotel—when she found the time from +her meddlin'. Somehow, I never thought about +her bein' <i>burned in</i> with Morris till puss give her +away. Puss never did like the girl when she was +alive, an' the first time I see her scratch an' spit at +the picture, just the way she used to do whenever +<i>she</i> come in sight, why, it just struck me like a clap +o' thunder out of a clear sky that puss knew who +she was a-spittin' at—an' I switched around sudden—an' +glanced up sudden—an'——</p> + +<p>“Well, what I seen, I seen! There was that +beautied-up typewriter settin' in the window-sill +o' Morris's butler's pantry—an' if she didn't wink +at me malicious, then I don't know malice when I +see it. An' she used her fingers against her nose, +too, most defiant and impolite. So I says to puss +I says, 'Puss,' I says, 'there's <i>goin's on</i> in that hotel, +sure as fate. Annabel Bender has got the better<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> +o' me, for once!' An', tell the truth, it did spoil the +photograph for me for a while, for, of course, after +that, if I didn't see him somewheres on the watch +for his faithful spouse, I'd say to myself, 'He's inside +there with that pink-featured hussy!'</p> + +<p>“You know, a man's a man, Mis' Withers—'specially +Morris, an' with his lawful wife cut off +an' indefinitely divorced by a longevitied family—an' +another burned in with him—well, his faithfulness +is put to a trial by fire, as you might say. So, +as I say, it spoiled the picture for me, for a while.</p> + +<p>“An', to make matters worse, it wasn't any time +before I recollected that Campbellite preacher thet +was burned in with them, an' with that my imagination +run riot, an' I'd think to myself, '<i>If</i> they're +inclined, they cert'n'y have things handy!' Then +I'd ketch myself an' say, 'Where's your faith in +Scripture, Mary Marthy Matthews, named after +two Bible women an' born daughter to an apostle? +What's the use?' I'd say, an' so, first an' last, I'd +get a sort o' alpha an' omega comfort out o' the +passage about no givin' in marriage. Still, there'd +be times, pray as I would, when them three would +loom up, him an' her—<i>an'</i> the Campbellite +preacher. I know his license to marry would run +out <i>in time</i>, but for eternity, of course we don't +know. Seem like everything would last forever—an' +then again, if I've got a widow's freedom, +Morris must be classed as a widower, if he's anything.</p> + +<p>“Then I'd get some relief in thinkin' about his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> +disposition. Good as he was, Morris was fickle-tasted, +not in the long run, but day in an' day out, +an' even if he'd be taken up with her he'd get a +distaste the minute he reelized she'd be there interminable. +That's Morris. Why, didn't he used +to get nervous just seein' <i>me</i> around, an' me his +own selected? An' didn't I use to make some +excuse to send him over to Mame Maddern's ma's +ma's—so's he'd be harmlessly diverted? She was +full o' talk, and she was ninety-odd an' asthmatic, +but he'd come home from them visits an' call me +his child wife. I've had my happy moments!</p> + +<p>“You know a man'll get tired of himself, even, +if he's condemned to it too continual, and think of +that blondinetted typewriter for a steady diet—to +a man like Morris! Imagine her when her hair +dye started to give out—green streaks in that +pompadour! So, knowin' my man, I'd take courage +an' I'd think, 'Seein' me cut off, he'll soon be +wantin' me more than ever'—an' so he does. It's +got so now that, glance up at that hotel any time +I will, I can generally find him on the lookout, an' +many's the time I've stole in an' put on a favoryte +apron o' his with blue bows on it, when we'd be +alone an' nobody to remark about me breakin' my +mournin'. Dear me, how full o' b'oyancy he was—a +regular boy at thirty-five, when he passed away!”</p> + +<p>Was it any wonder that her friends exchanged +glances while Mrs. Morris entertained them in so +droll a way? Still, as time passed and she not only +brightened in the light of her delusion, but proceeded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> +to meet the conditions of her own life by +opening a small shop in her home, and when she +exhibited a wholesome sense of profit and loss, her +neighbors were quite ready to accept her on terms +of mental responsibility.</p> + +<p>With occupation and a modest success, emotional +disturbance was surely giving place to an +even calm, when, one day, something happened.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Morris sat behind her counter, sorting +notions, puss asleep beside her, when she heard the +swish of thin silk, with a breath of familiar perfume, +and, looking up, whom did she see but the +blond lady of her troubled dreams striding bodily +up to the counter, smiling as she swished.</p> + +<p>At the sight the good woman first rose to her +feet, and then as suddenly dropped—flopped—breathless +and white—backward—and had to be +revived, so that for the space of some minutes +things happened very fast—that is, if we may +believe the flurried testimony of the blonde, who, +in going over it, two hours later, had more than +once to stop for breath.</p> + +<p>“Well, say!” she panted. “Did you ever! +<i>Such</i> a turn as took her! I hadn't no more 'n +stepped in the door when she succumbed, green as +the Ganges, into her own egg-basket—an' it full! +An' she was on the eve o' floppin' back into the +prunin' scizzor points up, when I scrambled over +the counter, breakin' my straight-front in two, +which she's welcome to, poor thing! Then I loaned +her my smellin'-salts, which she held her breath<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> +against until it got to be a case of smell or die, an' +she smelt! Then it was a case of temporary spasms +for a minute, the salts spillin' out over her face, but +when the accident evaporated, an' she opened her +eyes, rational, I thought to myself, 'Maybe she +don't know she's keeled an' would be humiliated if +she did,' so I acted callous, an' I says, offhand like, +I says, pushin' her apron around behind her over +its <i>vice versa</i>, so's to cover up the eggs, which I +thought had better be broke to her gently, I says. +'I just called in, Mis' Morris, to borry your recipe +for angel-cake—or maybe get you to bake one for +us' (I knew she baked on orders). An' with that, +what does she do but go over again, limp as wet +starch, down an' through every egg in that basket, +solid <i>an'</i> fluid!</p> + +<p>“Well, by this time, a man who had seen her at +her first worst an' run for a doctor, he come in with +three, an' whilst they were bowin' to each other an' +backin', I giv' 'er stimulus an' d'rectly she turned +upon me one rememberable gaze, an' she says, +'Doctors,' says she, 'would you think they'd have +the gall to try to get me to cook for 'em? They've +ordered angel-ca——' An' with that, over she +toppled again, no pulse nor nothin', same as the +dead!”</p> + +<p>While the blonde talked she busied herself with +her loosely falling locks, which she tried vainly to +entrap.</p> + +<p>“An' yet you say she ain't classed as crazy? I'd +say it of her, sure! An' so old Morris is dead—burned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> +in that old hotel! Well, well! Poor old +fellow! Dear old place! What times I've had!”</p> + +<p>She spoke through a mouthful of gilt hairpins +and her voice was as an Æolian harp.</p> + +<p>“An' he burned in it—an' she's a widow yet! +Yes, I did hear there'd been a fire, but you never +can tell. I thought the chimney might 'a' burned +out—an' I was in the thick of bein' engaged to the +night clerk at the Singin' Needles Hotel at Pineville +at the time—an' there's no regular mail there. +I thought the story might be exaggerated. Oh no, +I didn't marry the night clerk. I'm a bride now, +married to the head steward, same rank as poor +old Morris—an' we're just <i>as</i> happy! I used to +pleg Morris about <i>her</i> hair, but I'd have to let up +on that now. Mine's as red again as hers. No, not +my hair—<i>mine's</i> hair. It's as red as a flannen +drawer, every bit an' grain!</p> + +<p>“But, say,” she added, presently, “when she +gets better, just tell her never mind about that +reci-pe. I copied it out of her reci-pe book whilst +she was under the weather, an' dropped a dime in +her cash-drawer. I recollect how old Morris used +to look forward to her angel-cakes week-ends he'd +be goin' home, an' you know there's nothin' like +havin' ammunition, in marriage, even if you never +need it. Mine's in that frame of mind now that +transforms my gingerbread into angel-cake, but the +time may come when I'll have to beat my eggs to a +fluff even for angel-cake, so's not to have it taste +like gingerbread to him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh no, he's not with me this trip. I just run +down for a lark to show my folks my ring an' +things, an' let 'em see it's really so. He give me +considerable jewelry. His First's taste run that +way, an' they ain't no children.</p> + +<p>“Yes, this amethyst is the weddin'-ring. I +selected that on account of him bein' a widower. +It's the nearest I'd come to wearin' second mournin' +for a woman I can't exactly grieve after. The year +not bein' up is why he stayed home this trip. He +didn't like to be seen traversin' the same old haunts +with Another till it <i>was</i> up. I wouldn't wait +because, tell the truth, I was afraid. He ain't like +a married man with me about money yet, an' it's +liable to seize him any day. He might say that he +couldn't afford the trip, or that we couldn't, which +would amount to the same thing. I rather liked +him bein' a little ticklish about goin' around with +me for a while. It's one thing to do a thing an' +another to be brazen about it—it——</p> + +<p>“But if she don't get better”—the reversion was +to the Widow Morris—“if she don't get her mind +poor thing! there's a fine insane asylum just out of +Pineville, an' I'd like the best in the world to look +out for her. It would make an excuse for me to +go in. They say they have high old times there. +Some days they let the inmates do 'most any old +thing that's harmless. They even give 'em unpoisonous +paints an' let 'em paint each other up. +One man insisted he was a barber-pole an' ringed +himself accordingly, an' then another chased him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> +around for a stick of peppermint candy. Think of +all that inside a close fence, an' a town so dull an' +news-hungry——</p> + +<p>“Yes, they say Thursdays is paint days, an', of +course, Fridays, they are scrub days. They pass +around turpentine an' hide the matches. But, of +course, Mis' Morris may get the better of it. 'Tain' +every woman that can stand widowin', an' sometimes +them that has got the least out of marriage +will seem the most deprived to lose it—so they say.”</p> + +<p>The blonde was a person of words.</p> + +<br /> + +<p>When Mrs. Morris had fully revived and, after +a restoring “night's sleep” had got her bearings, +and when she realized clearly that her supposed +rival had actually shown up in the flesh, she visibly +braced up. Her neighbors understood that it must +have been a shock “to be suddenly confronted with +any souvenir of the hotel fire”—so one had expressed +it—and the incident soon passed out of the +village mind.</p> + +<p>It was not long after this incident that the widow +confided to a friend that she was coming to depend +upon Morris for advice in her business.</p> + +<p>“Standing as he does, in that hotel door—between +two worlds, as you might say—why, he sees +both ways, and oftentimes he'll detect an event <i>on +the way to happening</i>, an' if it don't move too fast, +why, I can hustle an' get the better of things.” It +was as if she had a private wire for advance information—and +she declared herself happy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span></p> + +<p>Indeed, a certain ineffable light such as we sometimes +see in the eyes of those newly in love came +to shine from the face of the widow, who did not +hesitate to affirm, looking into space as she said it:</p> + +<p>“Takin' all things into consideration, I can truly +say that I have never been so truly and ideely +married as since my widowhood.” And she smiled +as she added:</p> + +<p>“Marriage, the earthly way, is vicissitudinous, +for everybody knows that anything is liable to +happen to a man at large.”</p> + +<p>There had been a time when she lamented that +her picture was not “life-sized” as it would seem +so much more natural, but she immediately reflected +that that hotel would never have gotten +into her little house, and that, after all, the main +thing was having “him” under her own roof.</p> + +<p>As the months passed Mrs. Morris, albeit she +seemed serene and of peaceful mind, grew very +white and still. Fire is white in its ultimate intensity. +The top, spinning its fastest, is said to +“sleep”—and the dancing dervish is “still.” So, +misleading signs sometimes mark the danger-line.</p> + +<p>“Under-eating and over-thinking” was what the +doctor said while he felt her translucent wrist and +prescribed nails in her drinking-water. If he +secretly knew that kind nature was gently letting +down the bars so that a waiting spirit might easily +pass—well, he was a doctor, not a minister. His +business was with the body, and he ordered repairs.</p> + +<p>She was only thirty-seven and “well” when she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> +passed painlessly out of life. It seemed to be +simply a case of going.</p> + +<p>There were several friends at her bedside the +night she went, and to them she turned, feeling the +time come:</p> + +<p>“I just wanted to give out that the first thing I +intend to do when I'm relieved is to call by there +for Morris”—she lifted her weary eyes to the +picture as she spoke—“for Morris—and I want it +understood that it'll be a vacant house from the +minute I depart. So, if there's any other woman +that's calculatin' to have any carryin's-on from +them windows—why, she'll be disappointed—she +or they. The one obnoxious person I thought was +in it <i>wasn't</i>. My imagination was tempted of +Satan an' I was misled. So it must be sold for just +what it is—just a photographer's photograph. If +it's a picture with a past, why, everybody knows +what that past is, and will respect it. I have tried +to conquer myself enough to bequeath it to the +young lady I suspicioned, but human nature is +frail, an' I can't quite do it, although doubtless she +would like it as a souvenir. Maybe she'd find it a +little too souvenirish to suit my wifely taste, and +yet—if a person is going to die——</p> + +<p>“I suppose I might legate it to her, partly to recompense +her for her discretion in leaving that hotel +when she did—an' partly for undue suspicion——</p> + +<p>“There's a few debts to be paid, but there's eggs +an' things that'll pay them, an' there's no need to +have the hen settin' in the window showcase any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> +longer. It was a good advertisement, but I've +often thought it might be embarrassin' to her.” +She was growing weaker, but she roused herself to +amend:</p> + +<p>“Better raffle the picture for a dollar a chance +an' let the proceeds go to my funeral—an' I want +to be buried in the hotel-fire general grave, commingled +with him—an' what's left over after the +debts are paid, I bequeath to <i>her</i>—to make amends—an' +if she don't care to come for it, let every +widow in town draw for it. But she'll come. +'Most any woman'll take any trip, if it's paid for—But +look!” she raised her eyes excitedly toward +the mantel, “Look! What's that he's wavin'? It +looks—oh yes, it is—it's our wings—two pairs—mine +a little smaller. I s'pose it'll be the same old +story—I'll never be able to keep up—to keep up +with him—an' I've been so hap——</p> + +<p>“Yes, Morris—I'm comin'——”</p> + +<p>And she was gone—into a peaceful sleep from +which she easily passed just before dawn.</p> + +<p>When all was well over, the sitting women rose +with one accord and went to the mantel, where one +even lighted an extra candle more clearly to scan +the mysterious picture.</p> + +<p>Finally one said:</p> + +<p>“You may think I'm queer, but it does look +different to me already!”</p> + +<p>“So it does,” said another, taking the candle. +“Like a house for rent. I declare, it gives me the +cold shivers.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I'll pay my dollar gladly, and take a chance for +it,” whispered a third, “but I wouldn't let such a +thing as that enter my happy home——”</p> + +<p>“Neither would I!”</p> + +<p>“Nor me, neither. I've had trouble enough. +My husband's first wife's portrait has brought me +discord enough—an' it was a straight likeness. I +don't want any more pictures to put in the hen-house +loft.”</p> + +<p>So the feeling ran among the wives.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said she who was blowing out the +candle, “I'll draw for it—an' take it if I win it, an' +consider it a sort of inheritance. I never inherited +anything but indigestion.”</p> + +<p>The last speaker was a maiden lady, and so was +she who answered, chuckling:</p> + +<p>“That's what I say! Anything for a change. +There'd be some excitement in a picture where a +man was liable to show up. It's more than I've +got now. I do declare it's just scandalous the way +we're gigglin', an' the poor soul hardly out o' +hearin'. She had a kind heart, Mis' Morris had, +an' she made herself happy with a mighty slim +chance——”</p> + +<p>“Yes, she did—and I only wish there'd been a +better man waitin' for her in that hotel.”</p> +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="THE_GHOST_THAT_GOT_THE_BUTTON" id="THE_GHOST_THAT_GOT_THE_BUTTON"></a>THE GHOST THAT GOT THE BUTTON</h3> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By WILL ADAMS</span></h4> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span></p> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span> +<div class="blockquot"><p>From <i>Collier's Weekly</i>, May 24, 1913. By permission of <i>Collier's +Weekly</i> and Will Adams.</p></div> + + + +<h2>The Ghost that Got the Button</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By WILL ADAMS</span></h4> + + +<p>One autumn evening, when the days were shortening +and the darkness fell early on Hotchkiss and +the frost was beginning to adorn with its fine glistening +lace the carbine barrels of the night sentries +as they walked post, Sergeants Hansen and Whitney +and Corporal Whitehall had come to Stone's +room after supper, feeling the need common to all +men in the first cold nights of the year for a cozy +room, a good smoke, and congenial companionship.</p> + +<p>The steam heat, newly turned on, wheezed and +whined through the radiator: the air was blue and +dense with tobacco smoke; the three sergeants +reposed in restful, if inelegant attitudes, and Whitehall, +his feet on the window sill and his wooden +chair tilted back, was holding forth between puffs +at a very battered pipe about an old colored woman +who kept a little saloon in town.</p> + +<p>“So she got mad at those K troop men,” he said. +“An' nex' day when Turner stopped there for a +drink she says: 'You git outer yere! You men fum +de Arsenic wid de crossbones on you caps, I ain't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> +lettin' you in; but de Medical Corpses an' de Non-efficient +Officers, dey may come.'”</p> + +<p>The laugh that followed was interrupted by the +approach of a raucous, shrieking noise that rose +and fell in lugubrious cadence. “What the deuce!” +exclaimed Whitehall, starting up.</p> + +<p>“That's Bill,” explained Stone. “Bill Sullivan. +He thinks he's singin'. Funny you never heard +him before, Kid, but then he's not often taken that +way, thank the Lord.”</p> + +<p>“Come in, Bill,” he called, “an' tell us what's +the matter. Feel sick? Where's the pain?” he +asked as big Bill appeared in the doorway.</p> + +<p>“Come in, hombre, an' rest yo'self,” invited +Whitney, and hospitably handed over his tobacco-pouch. +“What was that tune yo'all were singin' +out yonder?”</p> + +<p>“Thanks,” responded Bill, settling down. +“That there tune was 'I Wonder Where You Are +To-night, My Love.'”</p> + +<p>“Sounded like 'Sister's Teeth Are Plugged with +Zinc,'” commented Whitney.</p> + +<p>“Or 'Lookin' Through the Knot Hole in Papa's +Wooden Leg,'” said Whitehall.</p> + +<p>“Or 'He Won't Buy the Ashman a Manicure +Set,'” added Stone.</p> + +<p>“No,” reiterated Bill solemnly. “It was like I +told yer; 'I Wonder Where You Are To-night, +My Love,' and it's a corker, too! I seen a feller +an' a goil sing it in Kelly's Voddyville Palace out +ter Cheyenne onct. Foist he'd sing one voise an'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> +then she'd sing the nex'. He was dressed like a +soldier, an' while he sang they was showin' tabloids +o' what the goil was a-doin' behind him; an' then +when she sang her voise he'd be in the tabloid, an' +when it got ter the last voise, an' he was dyin' on a +stretcher in a ambulance, everybody in the house +was a-cryin' so yer could hardly hear her. It was +great! My!” continued Bill, spreading out his +great paws over the radiator, “ain't this the +snappy evenin'? Real cold. Somehow it 'minds +me of the cold we had in China that time of the +Boxers, after we'd got ter the Legations; the nights +was cold just like this is.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Bill,” said Whitney, “I never knew +yo'all were there then. Why did yo' never tell us +befo'? What were yo' with?”</p> + +<p>“Fourteenth Infantry,” responded Bill proudly. +“It's a great ol' regiment—don't care if they <i>are</i> +doughboys.”</p> + +<p>“What company was you in?” inquired Hansen, +ponderously taking his pipe from his mouth and +breaking silence for the first time.</p> + +<p>“J Company, same as this.”</p> + +<p>At this reply Stone opened his mouth abruptly +to say something, but thought better of it and shut +up again.</p> + +<p>“It was blame cold them nights a week or so +after we was camped in the Temple of Agriculture +(that's what they called it—I dunno why), but +say! the heat comin' up from Tientsin was fryin'! +It was jus' boilin', bakin', an' bubblin'—worse a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> +heap than anythin' we'd had in the islands. We +chucked away mos' every last thing on that hike +but canteens an' rifles. It was a darn fool thing ter +do—the chuckin' was, o' course—but it come out +all right, 'cause extree supplies follered us up on the +Pie-ho in junks. Ain't that a funny name fer a +river? Pie-ho? Every time I got homesick I'd +say that river, an' then I'd see Hogan's Dairy +Lunch fer Ladies an' Gents on the ol' Bowery an' +hear the kid Mick Hogan yellin': 'Draw one in the +dark! White wings—let her flop! Pie-ho!' an' it +helped me a heap.” Bill settled himself and +stretched.</p> + +<p>“But what I really wanted to tell youse about,” +said he, “was somepin' that happened one o' these +here cold nights. It gits almighty cold there in +September, an' it was sure the spookiest show I +ever seen. Even Marm Haggerty's table rappin's +in Hester Street never come up to it.</p> + +<p>“There was three of us fellers who ran in a bunch +them days: me an' Buck Dugan, my bunkie, from +the Bowery like me (he was a corporal), an' Ranch +Fields—we called him that 'cause he always +woiked on a ranch before he come into the Fourteenth. +They was great fellers, Buck an' Ranch +was. Buck, now—yer couldn't phase him, yer +couldn't never phase him, no matter what sort o' +job yer put him up against he'd slide through slick +as a greased rat. The Cap'n, he knew it, too. +Onct when we was fightin' an' hadn't no men to +spare, he lef' Buck on guard over about twenty-five<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> +Boxer prisoners in a courtyard an' tells him he +dassent let one escape. But Buck wants ter git +into the fight with the rest of the boys, an' when he +finds that if he leaves them Chinos loose in the +yard alone they'll git out plenty quick, what does +he do but tie 'em tight up by their pigtails to some +posts. He knows they can't undo them tight knots +backwards, an' no Chink would cut his pigtail if +he <i>did</i> have a knife—he'd die foist—an' so Buck +skidoos off to the fight, an', sure enough, when the +Cap'n wants them Boxers, they're ready, tied up +an' waitin'. That was his sort, an', gee, but he +was smart!</p> + +<p>“We was all right int'rested in them Allies, o' +course, an' watched 'em clost; but, 'Bill,' says +Buck ter me one night, 'its been woikin in me +nut that these here fellers ain't so different from +what we know a'ready. Excep' fer their uniform +an' outfits, we've met 'em all before but the Japs. +Why, look a-here,' says he, 'foist, there's the white +men—the English—ain't they jus' like us excep' +that they're thicker an' we're longer? An' their +Injun niggers—ain't we seen their clothes in the +comic op'ras an' them without their clothes in the +monkey cage at Central Park? An' their Hong-kong +China Regiment an' all the other Chinos is +jus' the same as yer meet in the pipe joints in Mott +Street. Then,' says he, 'come all the Dagos. +These leather necks of Macaroni Dagos we've +seen a swarmin' all over Mulberry Bend an' Five +Points; the Sauerkraut Dagos looks fer all the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> +woild like they was goin' ter a Schützenfest up by +High Bridge; the Froggie Dagos you'll find packed in +them Frenchy restaraws in the Thirties—where yer +git blue wine—and them Vodki Dagos only needs +a pushcart ter make yer think yer in Baxter Street.'</p> + +<p>“Buck, he could sure talk, but Ranch, he wasn't +much on chin-chin. Little an' dark an' quiet he +was, an' jus' crazy fer dogs. Any old mutt'd do +fer him—jus' so's it was in the shape of a pup. He +was fair wild fer 'em. He picked up a yeller +cur out there the day after the Yangtsin fight, an' +that there no-account, mangy, flea-bitten mutt +had ter stay with us the whole time. If the pup +didn't stand in me an' Buck an' Ranch, he swore +he'd quit too, so we had to let him come, an' he +messed an' bunked with our outfit right along. +Ranch named him Daggett, after the Colonel, +which was right hard on the C. O., but I bet Ranch +thought he was complimentin' him. Why, Ranch +considered himself honored if any of the pup's fleas +hopped off on him. The pup he kep' along with +us right through everything; Ranch watchin' him +like the apple of his eye, an' he hardly ever was out +of our sight, till one night about a week after we +quartered in the temple he didn't turn up fer supper. +He was always so reg'lar at his chow that +Ranch he begin ter git the squirms an' when come +taps an' Daggett hadn't reported, Ranch had the +razzle-dazzles.</p> + +<p>“Nex' mornin' the foist thing he must go hunt +that pup, an' went a scoutin' all day, me an' Buck<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> +helpin' him—but nary pup; an' come another +supper without that miser'ble mutt, an' Ranch +was up an alley all right, all right. He was all +wore out, an' I made him hit the bunk early an' +try ter sleep; but, Lord! No sooner he'd drop off +'n he git ter twitchin' an' hitchin' an' wake up +a-yelpin' fer Daggett. Long about taps, Buck, +who's been out on a private reconnoissance, comes +back an' whispers ter me: 'Ssst, Bill! The cur's +found! Don't tell Ranch; the bloke'd die of heart +failure. I struck his trail an' follered it—an' say, +Bill, what'n thunder do yer think? Them heathen +Chinos has <i>et him</i>!' Lord, now, wouldn't that jolt +youse? Them Chinos a-eatin' Daggett! It give +me an awful jar, an' Buck he felt it, too. That +there mutt had acted right decent, an' we knew +Ranch would have bats in the belfry fer fair if he +hoid tell o' the pup's finish; so says Buck; 'Let's +not tell him, 'cause he's takin' on now like he'd +lost mother an' father an' best goil an' all, an' if he +knew Daggett was providin' chow fer Chinos he'd +go clean bug house an' we'd have ter ship him home +ter St. Elizabeth.'</p> + +<p>“I says O. K. ter that, an' we made it up not +ter let on ter Ranch; an' now here comes the spook +part yer been a-waitin' fer.</p> + +<p>“Four or five nights later I was on guard, an' my +post was the farthest out we had on the north. +There was an ol' road out over that way, an' I'd +hoid tell it led ter a ol' graveyard, but I hadn't +never been there myself an' hadn't thought much<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> +about it till 'long between two an' three o'clock, +as I was a-hikin' up an down, when somepin' comes +a-zizzin' down the road hell-fer-leather on to me, +a-yellin' somepin' fierce. Gee, but I was skeered! +I made sure it was a spook, an' there wasn't a bit o' +breath left in me. I was all to the bad that time +fer sure. Before I had time ter think even, that +screamin', streakin' thing was on me an a-grabbin' +roun' my knees; an' then I see it was one o' them +near-Christian Chinos, an' he's skeered more'n +me even. His eyes had popped clean out'n their +slits, an' his tongue was hangin' out by the roots, +he was that locoed. I raised the long yell fer +corporal of the guard, which happened, by good +luck, ter be Buck, an' when he come a-runnin', +thinkin' from the whoops I give we was bein' +rushed by the hole push of Boxers, the two of us +began proddin' at the Chink ter find out what was +doin'. Took us some time, too, with him bein' in +such a flutter an' hardly able ter even hand out his +darn ol' pigeon English, that sounds like language +comin' out of a sausage machine. When we did +savvy his line of chop-suey talk, we found out he'd +seen a ghost in the graveyard, an' not only seen it +but he knew who the spook was an' all about him. +We was gittin' some serious ourselves an' made +him tell us.</p> + +<p>“Seems it was a mandarin—that's a sort o' +Chink police-court judge (till I got ter Tientsin I +always thought they was little oranges), an' this +tangerine's—I mean mandarin's—name was Wu<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> +Ti Ming, an' he'd been a high mucky-muckraker +in his day, which was two or three hundred years +back. But the Emprer caught him deep in some +sort o' graft an' <i>took away his button</i> an' all o' his +dough.</p> + +<p>“'Lord!' says Buck when we come ter this, +'don't that prove what heathens Chinks is? Only +one button ter keep on their clothes with, an' the +Emprer he kin take it away! What did this here +Judge Ming do then, John? Use string or pins?' +This here John didn't seem ter savvy, but he said +that the mandarin took on so fer his button an' +his loss of pull in the ward that it was sure sad ter +see, an' by an' by the Emprer got busy again with +him an' had him finished up fer keeps; had him +die the 'death of a thousand cuts,' says John. It +sounded fierce ter me, but Buck he says:</p> + +<p>“'Pshaw! Anybody who's been shaved reg'lar +by them lady barbers on Fourth Avenyer would +'a' give the Emprer the merry ha-ha——'</p> + +<p>“After Ming was cut up they took the remains +of his corpse an' planted him in this here graveyard +up the road; but he wouldn't stay planted +an' began doin' stunts at night, 'topside walkee-walkee' +an' a-huntin' fer his lost button. He'd +used ter have the whole country scared up, but fer +the last twenty years he'd kep' right quiet an' had +hardly ever come out; but now sence the foreign +devils come (ain't that a sweet name fer us?) he's +up an' at it again worse than ever, an' the heathens +is on their ear. Fer four nights now they'd seen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> +him, wrapped in a blue robe, waitin' an' a-huntin' +behind tombstones an' walkin' round an' round +the graveyard lie a six days' race fer the belt at +Madison Square. John had jus' seen him on the +wall, an' that was why he come chargin' down the +road like forty cats.</p> + +<p>“'Will Mr. Ming's sperrit walk till he gits that +button back?' Buck asts. John says: 'Sure.'</p> + +<p>“'Well,' says Buck, 'why don't yer give him +one?'</p> + +<p>“'No can give. Only Emplor, only Son of +Heaven give.'</p> + +<p>“'Well, look here,' says Buck, 'we sand rabbits +ain't no sons of Heaven, but I'll be darned if we +couldn't spare a button ter lay the ghost of a pore +busted police-court judge, who's lost his job an' +his tin, if <i>that's</i> all he wants back. What time +does he come out at, John? Could we see him +ter-morrer night?' 'Sure could we,' says John; +'he'll show us the way, but he won't wait with us; +he's bad enough fer his.'</p> + +<p>“So Buck takes John an' goes back ter the guard +shack, as it's most time fer relief, an' after I got +back we told John ter git the hook, an' we talked +things over, an' Buck he was just wild ter see if he +couldn't lay that Chino ghost. His talents was +achin' ter git action on him; anythin' like that got +up his spunk. Says I:</p> + +<p>“'Maybe Ranch kin help. We'll tell him ter-morrer +after guard mount. It'll take his mind off +Daggett.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span></p> + +<p>“'No, yer don't,' says Buck. 'Don't yer dare +tell him. He's nervous as a cat over the pup as it +is, an' this spook business is awful skeery; I'm +feelin' woozy over it meself. I'm all off when it +comes ter ghosts—that is, if it's a real ghost. And +things here in Pekin' is so funny the odds is all in +favor of its bein' the sure thing. I ain't afeard o' +no kinds o' people, but I sure git cold feet when +I'm up against a ghost. Wouldn't that jar youse? +An' me a soldier; when it's a soldier's whole business +not ter <i>git</i> cold feet. But I'm bound I'll have +a show at that ol' spook even if it <i>does</i> skeer me out +o' my growth. Only don't yer dare tell Ranch.'</p> + +<p>“Nex' night, right after eleven o'clock rounds, +me an' Buck slipped outer our blankets, sneaked +out past the guard, an' met John, who was waitin' +fer us in the road jus' beyond where the last sentry +woulder seen him. It was cold as git out. Jus' +the same kind o' early cold as to-night, an' John's +teeth was chatterin' like peas in a box—he was +some loco with skeer, too, you bet.</p> + +<p>“'Which way?' says Buck, an' John spouts a +lot o' dope-joint lingo an' takes us up a side alley, +where there's a whole bunch o' Chinos waitin' fer +us, an' they begun a kowtowin' an' goin' on like +we was the whole cheese. Turned out that John +had jollied 'em that the Melican soldier mans was +big medicine an' would make Judge Ming quit the +midnight hike an' cut out scarin' 'em blue. That +jus' suited Buck; he was all there when it come ter +play commander in chief. He swelled up an' give<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> +'em a bundle o' talk that John put in Chino fer +'em, an' then finished up by showin' 'em a button—a +ol' United States Army brass button he'd cut +off his blue blouse—an' tol' 'em he was goin' ter +bury it in Ming's grave so as ter keep him bedded +down.</p> + +<p>“An' them simple idiots was pleased ter death, +an' the whole outfit escorted us over ter the graveyard, +but they shied at the gate (Lord, I hated ter +see 'em go—even if they <i>was</i> heathens!), an' let +John take us in an' show us where ter wait. He +put us in behind a pile o' little rocks in about the +middle o' the place near where Judge Ming hung +out, an' then retired on the main body at the +double, leavin' us two in outpost alone there together. +I hadn't never been ter a Chino buryin' +ground before, an' night time wasn't extree pleasant +fer a foist introduce. There was a new moon +that night—a little shavin' of a thing that hardly +gave no light, an' from where we was there was +a twisty pine tree branch that struck out right +acrost it like a picture card—two fer five. The +graveyard was all dark an' quiet, with little piles +o' rocks an' stone tables ter mark the graves, an' a +four- or five-foot wall runnin' all round it; an' +somehow, without nothin' stirrin' at all, the whole +blame place seemed chock full o' movin' shadders. +There wasn't a sound neither; not the least little +thing; jus' them shadders; an' the harder yous'd +look at 'em the more they seemed ter move. It +was cold, too, like I told yer—bitin' cold—an' me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> +an' Buck squatted there tight together an' mos' +friz. We waited, an' we waited, an' <i>we waited</i>, an' +we got skeerder, an' skeerder, an' <i>skeerder</i>, an', +gee! how we shivered! Every minute we thought +we'd see Judge Ming, but a long time went by an' +he didn't come an' he <i>didn't</i> come. There we set, +strung up tight an' ready ter snap like a banjo +string, but nothin' ter see but the shakin' shadders +an' nothin' ter hear—nothin' but jus' dead, dead +silence.</p> + +<p>“All of a suddent Buck (he kin hear a pin drop +a mile away) nearly nips a piece out'n my arm as +he grips me. 'Listen!' says he.</p> + +<p>“I listened an' listened, but I didn't hear +nothin', an' I told him so.</p> + +<p>“'Yes, yer do, yer bloke yer,' he whispers, +'Listen. Strain your years.'</p> + +<p>“Then way off I did begin ter hear somepin'. +It was a long, funny, waily cry, sort o' like the way +cats holler at each other at night. 'Oh-oo-oo, +oh-oo-oo!' like that, an' it come nearer an' nearer. +Then all of a suddent somepin' popped up on the +graveyard wall about a hundred yards away—somepin' +all blue-gray against the hook o' the moon—an' +began walkin' up an' down an' hollerin'. I +knew it was sayin' words, but I was so far to the +bad I didn't know nothin' an' couldn't make it out. +I never thought a feller's heart could bang so hard +against his ribs without bustin' out, an' me hair +riz so high me campaign hat was three inches off'n +me head. I hope ter the Lord I'll never be so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> +frightened again in all my livin' days. I set there +in a transom from fear an' friz ter the spot. I +don't know nothin' o' what Buck was doin', as my +lamps was glued ter the spook. It jumped down +from the wall, callin' an' whistlin' an' begin runnin' +round the little stone heaps. I seen it was +comin' our way, but I couldn't move or make a +sound; I jus' set. All of a suddent Buck he jumps +up an' makes a dash an' a leap at the spook, an' +there's a terrible yellin' an' they both comes down +crash at the foot of a rock pile, rollin' on the little +pebbles; but Buck is on top an' the spook underneath +an' lettin' off the most awful screeches. +Gosh, they jus' ripped the air, them spooks' yells +did, an' they turned my spell loose an' I howled +fer all I was worth. Then Buck, he commenced +a-yawpin' too, but me an' the spook we was both +raisin' so much noise I didn't savvy what he said +fer some time. Then I found he was cussin' me out.</p> + +<p>“'Come here, you forsaken —— ——,' he howls. +'Quit yellin'! I say <i>quit yellin'</i>! Don't yer see +who this is? Come here an' help me.'</p> + +<p>“'You think I'm goin' ter tech that Ming +spook?' I shrieks.</p> + +<p>“'You miser'ble loony,' he yells back, 'can't +yer see it ain't no Ming? It's Ranch!'</p> + +<p>“Well, so it was. It was Ranch skeered stiff an' +hollerin' fer dear life at bein' jumped on an' waked +up in the middle of a graveyard that-a-way. Pore +ol' feller had had Daggett on his mind, an' went +sleepwalkin' an' huntin' wrapped in his blanket.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span></p> + +<p>“'An',' says Buck ter me, 'if youse hadn't been +in such a dope dream with skeer, you'd 'a' sensed +what he was a-yellin'. He was callin' “Oh-oo-oo, +oh-oo-oo, here Daggett! Here, boy!” an' then +he'd whistle an' call again: “Here, Daggett! Here, +Daggett!” That's how I knew it was Ranch; an', +besides, he told me onct that he sleepwalked when +he got worried. But you, you white livered—' +an' then he cussed me out some more.</p> + +<p>“'Smarty,' I says, 'if yer knew so blame well it +was Ranch, why did yer give him the flyin' tackle +like yer done an' git him all woiked up like this?'</p> + +<p>“'Well,' says Buck sort o' sheepy, 'I was some +woiked up meself, an' time he come along I give +him the spook's tackle without thinkin'; I was too +skeered ter think. Hush, Ranch. Hush, old boy. +It's jus' me'n Bill. Nobody shan't hoit yer.'</p> + +<p>“We comforted pore ol' Ranch an' fixed him up, +an' then when he felt better told him about things—all +but how Daggett was et—an' I wrapped his +blanket around him an' took him back ter quarters +while Buck went a-lookin' fer John an' his gang.</p> + +<p>“He found 'em about half a mile off, in front +of a Mott Street joss house, all prayin' an' burnin' +punk an' huddled together, skeered green from the +yellin's they'd heard. Buck, he give 'em a long +chin-chin about layin' the ghost, an' how Judge +Ming wouldn't never come back no more; an' then +he dragged 'em all back (they pullin' at the halter +shanks with years laid back an' eyes rollin'), ter +him bury his United States button on Ming's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> +rock pile. He dropped it in solemn, an' said what +the Chinks took ter be a prayer; but it was really +the oath he said. Buck havin' onct been a recruitin' +sergeant, knew it by heart all the way from +'I do solemnly swear' ter 'so help me, Gawd.' +Buck says I oughter seen them grateful Chinos +then: they'd 'a' give him the whole Chino Umpire +if they could. They got down an' squirmed an' +kissed his hands an' his feet an' his sleeve. They +wanted ter escort him back ter camp, but he +bucked at that, an' said no, as he was out without +pass an' not itchin' fer his arrival ter be noticed +none.</p> + +<p>“After that we took toins watchin' Ranch at +night, an' got him another mutt ter love, an' he +didn't wander any more, so Judge Ming seemed +satisfied with his United States button, an' kep' +quiet. But them Chinks was the gratefullest gang +yer ever seen. They brought us presents; things +ter eat—fruit, poultry, eggs, an' all sorts of chow, +some of it mighty funny lookin', but it tasted all +right; we lived high, we three. The other fellers +was wild ter know how we woiked it. An' I tell +yer I ain't never been skeered o' ghosts sence—that +is, not ter speak of—<i>much</i>!”</p> + +<p>Bill, paused, drew a long breath, and looked at +the clock. “Gee!” said he, “most nine o'clock. I +got ter go over ter K troop ter see Sergeant Keefe +a minute—I promised him. Adios, fellers. +Thanks fer the smokin'.”</p> + +<p>“Keep the change, hombre. Thanks for yo'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> +tale,” shouted Whitney after him as he disappeared +down the hall.</p> + +<p>“Well!!” said Stone, and looked at Hansen.</p> + +<p>“Well!!” responded Hansen. The big Swede +shook with laughter. “Iss he not the finest liar! +Yess? I wass in the Fourteenth myselluf. That +wass my company—Chay. He wass not even the +army in then—in nineteen hund'erd.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Stone, “I knew, but I wasn't goin' +to spoil his bloomin' yarn. I happened to see his +enlistment card only this mornin', and the only +thing he was ever in before was the Twenty-third +Infantry after they came back from the Islands. +He's never even been out of the States.”</p> + +<p>“But where did he get it from?” asked Whitney. +“His imagination is equal to most anything but +gettin' so many facts straight. Of co'se I noticed +things yere an' there—but the most of it was +O. K.”</p> + +<p>“I tell you,” said Hansen, grinning, “he got it +from an old Fourteenth man—Dan Powerss—at +practice camp last Chuly. He an' I wass often +talking of China. He wuss in my old company an' +wass then telling me how he an' the other fellerss +all that extra chow got. I tank Bill he hass a goot +memory.”</p> + +<p>“But the nerve of him!” cried Whitehall, “tryin' +ter pass that off on us with Hansen sittin' right +there.”</p> + +<p>“It iss one thing he may have forgot,” smiled +Hansen.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Well, who cares anyway?” said Stone. “It +was a blame good story. An' now clear out, all of +you. I want to hit the bunk. Reveille does seem +to come so early these cold mornin's. Gee! I +wish I knew of some kind of button that would +keep <i>me</i> lyin' down when Shorty wants me to get +up an' call the roll.”</p> +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="THE_SPECTER_BRIDEGROOM" id="THE_SPECTER_BRIDEGROOM"></a>THE SPECTER BRIDEGROOM</h3> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By WASHINGTON IRVING</span></h4> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314"></a></span> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span> + + +<h2>The Specter Bridegroom</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span></p> + +<h4><span class="smcap">A Traveler's Tale</span><a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> +<span class="smcap">By</span> WASHINGTON IRVING</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">He that supper for is dight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He lyes full cold, I trow, this night!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yestreen to chamber I him led,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This night Gray-Steel has made his bed.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<center><span class="smcap">Sir Eger, Sir Grahame, and Sir Gray-Steel.</span></center> + + + +<p>On the summit of one of the heights of the Odenwald, +a wild and romantic tract of Upper Germany, +that lies not far from the confluence of the +Main and the Rhine, there stood, many, many +years since, the Castle of the Baron Von Landshort. +It is now quite fallen to decay, and almost +buried among beech trees and dark firs; above +which, however, its old watch tower may still be +seen, struggling, like the former possessor I have +mentioned, to carry a high head, and look down +upon the neighboring country.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span></p> + +<p>The baron was a dry branch of the great family +of Katzenellenbogen,<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> and inherited the relics of +the property, and all the pride of his ancestors. +Though the warlike disposition of his predecessors +had much impaired the family possessions, yet the +baron still endeavored to keep up some show of +former state. The times were peaceable, and the +German nobles, in general, had abandoned their +inconvenient old castles, perched like eagles' nests +among the mountains, and had built more convenient +residences in the valleys; still the baron +remained proudly drawn up in his little fortress, +cherishing with hereditary inveteracy, all the old +family feuds; so that he was on ill terms with some +of his nearest neighbors, on account of disputes +that had happened between their great-great-grandfathers.</p> + +<p>The baron had but one child, a daughter; but +nature, when she grants but one child, always +compensates by making it a prodigy; and so it was +with the daughter of the baron. All the nurses, +gossips, and country cousins assured her father +that she had not her equal for beauty in all Germany; +and who should know better than they? +She had, moreover, been brought up with great +care under the superintendence of two maiden +aunts, who had spent some years of their early life<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> +at one of the little German courts, and were skilled +in all branches of knowledge necessary to the education +of a fine lady. Under their instructions +she became a miracle of accomplishments. By +the time she was eighteen, she could embroider to +admiration, and had worked whole histories of +the saints in tapestry, with such strength of expression +in their countenances, that they looked +like so many souls in purgatory. She could read +without great difficulty, and had spelled her way +through several church legends, and almost all the +chivalric wonders of the Heldenbuch. She had +even made considerable proficiency in writing; +could sign her own name without missing a letter, +and so legibly, that her aunts could read it without +spectacles. She excelled in making little elegant +good-for-nothing lady-like nicknacks of all kinds; +was versed in the most abstruse dancing of the +day; played a number of airs on the harp and +guitar; and knew all the tender ballads of the +Minnelieders by heart.</p> + +<p>Her aunts, too, having been great flirts and +coquettes in their younger days, were admirably +calculated to be vigilant guardians and strict +censors of the conduct of their niece; for there is +no duenna so rigidly prudent, and inexorably +decorous, as a superannuated coquette. She was +rarely suffered out of their sight; never went beyond +the domains of the castle, unless well attended, +or rather well watched; had continual +lectures read to her about strict decorum and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> +implicit obedience; and, as to the men—pah!—she +was taught to hold them at such a distance, +and in such absolute distrust, that, unless properly +authorized, she would not have cast a glance upon +the handsomest cavalier in the world—no, not +if he were even dying at her feet.</p> + +<p>The good effects of this system were wonderfully +apparent. The young lady was a pattern of +docility and correctness. While others were wasting +their sweetness in the glare of the world, and +liable to be plucked and thrown aside by every +hand, she was coyly blooming into fresh and lovely +womanhood under the protection of those immaculate +spinsters, like a rosebud blushing forth among +guardian thorns. Her aunts looked upon her with +pride and exultation, and vaunted that though all +the other young ladies in the world might go +astray, yet, thank Heaven, nothing of the kind +could happen to the heiress of Katzenellenbogen.</p> + +<p>But, however scantily the Baron Von Landshort +might be provided with children, his household +was by no means a small one; for Providence had +enriched him with abundance of poor relations. +They, one and all, possessed the affectionate disposition +common to humble relatives; were wonderfully +attached to the baron, and took every +possible occasion to come in swarms and enliven the +castle. All family festivals were commemorated +by these good people at the baron's expense; and +when they were filled with good cheer, they would +declare that there was nothing on earth so delightful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> +as these family meetings, these jubilees of the +heart.</p> + +<p>The baron, though a small man, had a large +soul, and it swelled with satisfaction at the consciousness +of being the greatest man in the little +world about him. He loved to tell long stories +about the dark old warriors whose portraits looked +grimly down from the walls around, and he found +no listeners equal to those that fed at his expense. +He was much given to the marvelous, and a firm +believer in all those supernatural tales with which +every mountain and valley in Germany abounds. +The faith of his guests exceeded even his own: they +listened to every tale of wonder with open eyes +and mouth, and never failed to be astonished, even +though repeated for the hundredth time. Thus +lived the Baron Von Landshort, the oracle of his +table, the absolute monarch of his little territory, +and happy, above all things, in the persuasion that +he was the wisest man of the age.</p> + +<p>At the time of which my story treats, there was +a great family gathering at the castle, on an affair +of the utmost importance: it was to receive the +destined bridegroom of the baron's daughter. A +negotiation had been carried on between the +father and an old nobleman of Bavaria, to unite +the dignity of their houses by the marriage of their +children. The preliminaries had been conducted +with proper punctilio. The young people were +betrothed without seeing each other, and the time +was appointed for the marriage ceremony. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> +young Count Von Altenburg had been recalled +from the army for the purpose, and was actually +on his way to the baron's to receive his bride. +Missives had even been received from him from +Wurtzburg, where he was accidentally detained, +mentioning the day and hour when he might be +expected to arrive.</p> + +<p>The castle was in a tumult of preparation to +give him a suitable welcome. The fair bride had +been decked out with uncommon care. The two +aunts had superintended her toilet, and quarreled +the whole morning about every article of her +dress. The young lady had taken advantage of +their contest to follow the bent of her own taste; +and fortunately it was a good one. She looked as +lovely as youthful bridegroom could desire; and +the flutter of expectation heightened the luster +of her charms.</p> + +<p>The suffusions that mantled her face and neck, +the gentle heaving of the bosom, the eye now and +then lost in reverie, all betrayed the soft tumult +that was going on in her little heart. The aunts +were continually hovering around her; for maiden +aunts are apt to take great interest in affairs of +this nature. They were giving her a world of +staid counsel how to deport herself, what to say, +and in what manner to receive the expected lover.</p> + +<p>The baron was no less busied in preparations. +He had, in truth, nothing exactly to do; but he +was naturally a fuming bustling little man, and +could not remain passive when all the world was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span> +in a hurry. He worried from top to bottom of the +castle with an air of infinite anxiety; he continually +called the servants from their work to exhort +them to be diligent; and buzzed about every hall +and chamber, as idly restless and importunate as +a blue-bottle fly on a warm summer's day.</p> + +<p>In the meantime the fatted calf had been killed; +the forests had rung with the clamor of the huntsmen; +the kitchen was crowded with good cheer; +the cellars had yielded up whole oceans of <i>Rheinwein</i> +and <i>Fernewein</i>; and even the great Heidelberg +tun had been laid under contribution. +Everything was ready to receive the distinguished +guest with <i>Saus und Braus</i> in the true spirit of +German hospitality—but the guest delayed to +make his appearance. Hour rolled after hour. +The sun, that had poured his downward rays upon +the rich forest of the Odenwald, now just gleamed +along the summits of the mountains. The baron +mounted the highest tower, and strained his eyes +in hope of catching a distant sight of the count +and his attendants. Once he thought he beheld +them; the sounds of horns came floating from the +valley, prolonged by the mountain echoes. A +number of horsemen were seen far below, slowly +advancing along the road; but when they had +nearly reached the foot of the mountain, they +suddenly struck off in a different direction. The +last ray of sunshine departed—the bats began to +flit by in the twilight—the road grew dimmer and +dimmer to the view; and nothing appeared stirring<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span> +in it but now and then a peasant lagging homeward +from his labor.</p> + +<p>While the old castle at Landshort was in this +state of perplexity, a very interesting scene was +transacting in a different part of the Odenwald.</p> + +<p>The young Count Von Altenburg was tranquilly +pursuing his route in that sober jog-trot way in +which a man travels toward matrimony when his +friends have taken all the trouble and uncertainty +of courtship off his hands, and a bride is waiting +for him, as certainly as a dinner at the end of his +journey. He had encountered at Wurtzburg a +youthful companion in arms with whom he had +seen some service on the frontiers: Herman Von +Starkenfaust, one of the stoutest hands and +worthiest hearts of German chivalry, who was +now returning from the army. His father's +castle was not far distant from the old fortress of +Landshort, although an hereditary feud rendered +the families hostile, and strangers to each other.</p> + +<p>In the warm-hearted moment of recognition, +the young friends related all their past adventures +and fortunes, and the count gave the whole +history of his intended nuptials with a young +lady whom he had never seen, but of whose +charms he had received the most enrapturing +descriptions.</p> + +<p>As the route of the friends lay in the same direction, +they agreed to perform the rest of their +journey together; and, that they might do it the +more leisurely, set off from Wurtzburg at an early<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span> +hour, the count having given directions for his +retinue to follow and overtake him.</p> + +<p>They beguiled their wayfaring with recollections +of their military scenes and adventures; but +the count was apt to be a little tedious, now and +then, about the reputed charms of his bride and +the felicity that awaited him.</p> + +<p>In this way they had entered among the mountains +of the Odenwald, and were traversing one of +its most lonely and thickly wooded passes. It is +well known that the forests of Germany have +always been as much infested by robbers as its +castles by specters; and at this time the former +were particularly numerous, from the hordes of +disbanded soldiers wandering about the country. +It will not appear extraordinary, therefore, that +the cavaliers were attacked by a gang of these +stragglers, in the midst of the forest. They defended +themselves with bravery, but were nearly +overpowered, when the count's retinue arrived +to their assistance. At sight of them the robbers +fled, but not until the count had received a mortal +wound. He was slowly and carefully conveyed +back to the city of Wurtzburg, and a friar summoned +from a neighboring convent who was +famous for his skill in administering to both soul +and body; but half of his skill was superfluous; the +moments of the unfortunate count were numbered.</p> + +<p>With his dying breath he entreated his friend +to repair instantly to the castle of Landshort, and +explain the fatal cause of his not keeping his appointment<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span> +with his bride. Though not the most +ardent of lovers, he was one of the most punctilious +of men, and appeared earnestly solicitous that +his mission should be speedily and courteously +executed. “Unless this is done,” said he, “I shall +not sleep quietly in my grave!” He repeated +these last words with peculiar solemnity. A request, +at a moment so impressive, admitted no +hesitation. Starkenfaust endeavored to soothe +him to calmness; promised faithfully to execute +his wish, and gave him his hand in solemn pledge. +The dying man pressed it in acknowledgment, +but soon lapsed into delirium—raved about his +bride—his engagements—his plighted word; +ordered his horse, that he might ride to the castle +of Landshort; and expired in the fancied act of +vaulting into the saddle.</p> + +<p>Starkenfaust bestowed a sigh and a soldier's +tear on the untimely fate of his comrade, and then +pondered on the awkward mission he had undertaken. +His heart was heavy, and his head perplexed; +for he was to present himself an unbidden +guest among hostile people, and to damp their +festivity with tidings fatal to their hopes. Still, +there were certain whisperings of curiosity in his +bosom to see this far-famed beauty of Katzenellenbogen, +so cautiously shut up from the world; for +he was a passionate admirer of the sex, and there +was a dash of eccentricity and enterprise in his +character that made him fond of all singular +adventure.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span></p> + +<p>Previous to his departure he made all due arrangements +with the holy fraternity of the convent +for the funeral solemnities of his friend, +who was to be buried in the cathedral of Wurtzburg +near some of his illustrious relatives; and +the mourning retinue of the count took charge of +his remains.</p> + +<p>It is now high time that we should return to the +ancient family of Katzenellenbogen, who were +impatient for their guest, and still more for their +dinner; and to the worthy little baron, whom we +left airing himself on the watch-tower.</p> + +<p>Night closed in, but still no guest arrived. The +baron descended from the tower in despair. The +banquet, which had been delayed from hour to +hour, could no longer be postponed. The meats +were already overdone; the cook in an agony; +and the whole household had the look of a garrison +that had been reduced by famine. The baron +was obliged reluctantly to give orders for the feast +without the presence of the guest. All were +seated at table, and just on the point of commencing, +when the sound of a horn from without the +gate gave notice of the approach of a stranger. +Another long blast filled the old courts of the castle +with its echoes, and was answered by the warder +from the walls. The baron hastened to receive +his future son-in-law.</p> + +<p>The drawbridge had been let down, and the +stranger was before the gate. He was a tall, +gallant cavalier mounted on a black steed. His<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span> +countenance was pale, but he had a beaming, +romantic eye, and an air of stately melancholy.</p> + +<p>The baron was a little mortified that he should +have come in this simple, solitary style. His +dignity for a moment was ruffled, and he felt disposed +to consider it a want of proper respect for +the important occasion, and the important family +with which he was to be connected. He pacified +himself, however, with the conclusion, that it must +have been youthful impatience which had induced +him thus to spur on sooner than his attendants.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry,” said the stranger, “to break in +upon you thus unseasonably——”</p> + +<p>Here the baron interrupted with a world of +compliments and greetings; for, to tell the truth, +he prided himself upon his courtesy and eloquence.</p> + +<p>The stranger attempted, once or twice, to stem +the torrent of words, but in vain, so he bowed his +head and suffered it to flow on. By the time the +baron had come to a pause, they had reached the +inner court of the castle; and the stranger was +again about to speak, when he was once more interrupted +by the appearance of the female part of +the family leading forth the shrinking and blushing +bride. He gazed on her for a moment as one +entranced; it seemed as if his whole soul beamed +forth in the gaze, and rested upon that lovely form. +One of the maiden aunts whispered something in +her ear; she made an effort to speak; her moist +blue eye was timidly raised; gave a shy glance of +inquiry on the stranger; and was cast again to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span> +ground. The words died away; but there was a +sweet smile playing about her lips, and a soft +dimpling of the cheek that showed her glance had +not been unsatisfactory. It was impossible for a +girl of the fond age of eighteen, highly predisposed +for love and matrimony, not to be pleased with so +gallant a cavalier.</p> + +<p>The late hour at which the guest had arrived +left no time for parley. The baron was peremptory, +and deferred all particular conversation until +the morning, and led the way to the untasted +banquet.</p> + +<p>It was served up in the great hall of the castle. +Around the walls hung the hard-favored portraits +of the heroes of the house of Katzenellenbogen, and +the trophies which they had gained in the field +and in the chase. Hacked corselets, splintered +jousting spears, and tattered banners were mingled +with the spoils of sylvan warfare; the jaws of the +wolf and the tusks of the boar grinned horribly +among cross-bows and battle-axes, and a huge +pair of antlers branched immediately over the +head of the youthful bridegroom.</p> + +<p>The cavalier took but little notice of the company +or the entertainment. He scarcely tasted +the banquet, but seemed absorbed in admiration +of his bride. He conversed in a low tone that could +not be overheard—for the language of love is +never loud; but where is the female ear so dull +that it cannot catch the softest whisper of the +lover? There was a mingled tenderness and gravity<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span> +in his manner, that appeared to have a powerful +effect upon the young lady. Her color came +and went as she listened with deep attention. +Now and then she made some blushing reply, and +when his eye was turned away, she would steal a +sidelong glance at his romantic countenance and +heave a gentle sigh of tender happiness. It was +evident that the young couple were completely +enamored. The aunts, who were deeply versed +in the mysteries of the heart, declared that they +had fallen in love with each other at first sight.</p> + +<p>The feast went on merrily, or at least noisily, +for the guests were all blessed with those keen +appetites that attend upon light purses and mountain +air. The baron told his best and longest +stories, and never had he told them so well, or +with such great effect. If there was anything +marvelous, his auditors were lost in astonishment; +and if anything facetious, they were sure to +laugh exactly in the right place. The baron, it is +true, like most great men, was too dignified to +utter any joke but a dull one; it was always enforced, +however, by a bumper of excellent Hockheimer; +and even a dull joke, at one's own table, +served up with jolly old wine, is irresistible. Many +good things were said by poorer and keener wits +that would not bear repeating, except on similar +occasions; many sly speeches whispered in ladies' +ears, that almost convulsed them with suppressed +laughter; and a song or two roared out by a poor, +but merry and broad-faced cousin of the baron<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> +that absolutely made the maiden aunts hold up +their fans.</p> + +<p>Amidst all this revelry, the stranger guest maintained +a most singular and unseasonable gravity. +His countenance assumed a deeper cast of dejection +as the evening advanced; and, strange as it +may appear, even the baron's jokes seemed only +to render him the more melancholy. At times he +was lost in thought, and at times there was a perturbed +and restless wandering of the eye that +bespoke a mind but ill at ease. His conversations +with the bride became more and more earnest and +mysterious. Lowering clouds began to steal over +the fair serenity of her brow, and tremors to run +through her tender frame.</p> + +<p>All this could not escape the notice of the company. +Their gayety was chilled by the unaccountable +gloom of the bridegroom; their spirits were +infected; whispers and glances were interchanged, +accompanied by shrugs and dubious shakes of the +head. The song and the laugh grew less and less +frequent; there were dreary pauses in the conversation, +which were at length succeeded by wild tales +and supernatural legends. One dismal story produced +another still more dismal, and the baron +nearly frightened some of the ladies into hysterics +with the history of the goblin horseman that carried +away the fair Leonora; a dreadful story +which has since been put into excellent verse, and +is read and believed by all the world.</p> + +<p>The bridegroom listened to this tale with profound<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span> +attention. He kept his eyes steadily fixed +on the baron, and, as the story drew to a close, +began gradually to rise from his seat, growing +taller and taller, until, in the baron's entranced +eye, he seemed almost to tower into a giant. The +moment the tale was finished, he heaved a deep +sigh and took a solemn farewell of the company. +They were all amazement. The baron was perfectly +thunder-struck.</p> + +<p>“What! going to leave the castle at midnight? +Why, everything was prepared for his reception; a +chamber was ready for him if he wished to retire.”</p> + +<p>The stranger shook his head mournfully and +mysteriously; “I must lay my head in a different +chamber to-night!”</p> + +<p>There was something in this reply, and the tone +in which it was uttered, that made the baron's +heart misgive him; but he rallied his forces and +repeated his hospitable entreaties.</p> + +<p>The stranger shook his head silently, but positively, +at every offer; and, waving his farewell +to the company, stalked slowly out of the +hall. The maiden aunts were absolutely petrified—the +bride hung her head, and a tear stole to her +eye.</p> + +<p>The baron followed the stranger to the great +court of the castle, where the black charger stood +pawing the earth and snorting with impatience. +When they had reached the portal, whose deep +archway was dimly lighted by a cresset, the +stranger paused, and addressed the baron in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> +hollow tone of voice which the vaulted roof rendered +still more sepulchral.</p> + +<p>“Now that we are alone,” said he, “I will impart +to you the reason of my going. I have a solemn, +an indispensable engagement——”</p> + +<p>“Why,” said the baron, “cannot you send someone +in your place?”</p> + +<p>“It admits of no substitute—I must attend it +in person—I must away to Wurtzburg cathedral——”</p> + +<p>“Ay,” said the baron, plucking up spirit, “but +not until to-morrow—to-morrow you shall take +your bride there.”</p> + +<p>“No! no!” replied the stranger, with tenfold +solemnity, “my engagement is with no bride—the +worms! the worms expect me! I am a dead +man—I have been slain by robbers—my body lies +at Wurtzburg—at midnight I am to be buried—the +grave is waiting for me—I must keep my +appointment!”</p> + +<p>He sprang on his black charger, dashed over the +drawbridge, and the clattering of his horses' hoofs +was lost in the whistling of the night blast.</p> + +<p>The baron returned to the hall in the utmost +consternation, and related what had passed. Two +ladies fainted outright, others sickened at the idea +of having banqueted with a specter. It was the +opinion of some, that this might be the wild huntsman, +famous in German legend. Some talked of +mountain sprites, of wood-demons, and of other +supernatural beings, with which the good people<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span> +of Germany have been so grievously harassed since +time immemorial. One of the poor relations ventured +to suggest that it might be some sportive +evasion of the young cavalier, and that the very +gloominess of the caprice seemed to accord with +so melancholy a personage. This, however, drew +on him the indignation of the whole company, and +especially of the baron, who looked upon him as +little better than an infidel; so that he was fain to +abjure his heresy as speedily as possible, and come +into the faith of the true believers.</p> + +<p>But whatever may have been the doubts entertained, +they were completely put to an end by the +arrival, next day, of regular missives confirming +the intelligence of the young count's murder, and +his interment in Wurtzburg cathedral.</p> + +<p>The dismay at the castle may well be imagined. +The baron shut himself up in his chamber. The +guests, who had come to rejoice with him, could +not think of abandoning him in his distress. They +wandered about the courts, or collected in groups +in the hall, shaking their heads and shrugging +their shoulders at the troubles of so good a man; +and sat longer than ever at table, and ate and +drank more stoutly than ever, by way of keeping +up their spirits. But the situation of the widowed +bride was the most pitiable. To have lost a husband +before she had even embraced him—and +such a husband! if the very specter could be so +gracious and noble, what must have been the living +man! She filled the house with lamentations.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span></p> + +<p>On the night of the second day of her widowhood, +she had retired to her chamber, accompanied +by one of her aunts who insisted on sleeping with +her. The aunt, who was one of the best tellers +of ghost stories in all Germany, had just been +recounting one of her longest, and had fallen +asleep in the very midst of it. The chamber was +remote, and overlooked a small garden. The +niece lay pensively gazing at the beams of the +rising moon, as they trembled on the leaves of +an aspen-tree before the lattice. The castle-clock +had just tolled midnight, when a soft strain of +music stole up from the garden. She rose hastily +from her bed, and stepped lightly to the window. +A tall figure stood among the shadows of the trees. +As it raised its head, a beam of moonlight fell upon +the countenance. Heaven and earth! she beheld +the Specter Bridegroom! A loud shriek at that +moment burst upon her ear, and her aunt, who +had been awakened by the music, and had followed +her silently to the window, fell into her arms. +When she looked again, the specter had disappeared.</p> + +<p>Of the two females, the aunt now required the +most soothing, for she was perfectly beside herself +with terror. As to the young lady, there was +something, even in the specter of her lover, that +seemed endearing. There was still the semblance +of manly beauty; and though the shadow of a man +is but little calculated to satisfy the affections of a +love-sick girl, yet, where the substance is not to be +had, even that is consoling. The aunt declared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span> +she would never sleep in that chamber again; the +niece, for once, was refractory, and declared as +strongly that she would sleep in no other in the +castle: the consequence was, that she had to sleep +in it alone: but she drew a promise from her aunt +not to relate the story of the specter, lest she +should be denied the only melancholy pleasure +left her on earth—that of inhabiting the chamber +over which the guardian shade of her lover kept +its nightly vigils.</p> + +<p>How long the good old lady would have observed +this promise is uncertain, for she dearly +loved to talk of the marvelous, and there is a +triumph in being the first to tell a frightful story; +it is, however, still quoted in the neighborhood, as +a memorable instance of female secrecy, that she +kept it to herself for a whole week; when she was +suddenly absolved from all further restraint, by +intelligence, brought to the breakfast table one +morning, that the young lady was not to be +found. Her room was empty—the bed had not +been slept in—the window was open, and the bird +had flown!</p> + +<p>The astonishment and concern with which the +intelligence was received, can only be imagined +by those who have witnessed the agitation which +the mishaps of a great man cause among his +friends. Even the poor relations paused for a +moment from the indefatigable labors of the +trencher, when the aunt, who had at first been +struck speechless, wrung her hands, and shrieked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span> +out, “The goblin! the goblin! She's carried away +by the goblin!”</p> + +<p>In a few words she related the fearful scene of +the garden, and concluded that the specter must +have carried off his bride. Two of the domestics +corroborated the opinion, for they had heard the +clattering of a horse's hoofs down the mountain +about midnight, and had no doubt that it was the +specter on his black charger, bearing her away to +the tomb. All present were struck with the direful +probability; for events of the kind are extremely +common in Germany, as many well-authenticated +histories bear witness.</p> + +<p>What a lamentable situation was that of the +poor baron! What a heart-rending dilemma for a +fond father, and a member of the great family of +Katzenellenbogen! His only daughter had either +been rapt away to the grave, or he was to have +some wood-demon for a son-in-law, and, perchance, +a troop of goblin grandchildren. As +usual, he was completely bewildered and all the +castle in an uproar. The men were ordered to take +horse, and scour every road and path and glen of +the Odenwald. The baron himself had just drawn +on his jack-boots, girded on his sword, and was +about to mount his steed to sally forth on the +doubtful quest, when he was brought to a pause +by a new apparition. A lady was seen approaching +the castle, mounted on a palfrey, attended by +a cavalier on horseback. She galloped up to the +gate, sprang from her horse, and falling at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span> +baron's feet, embraced his knees. It was his lost +daughter, and her companion—the Specter Bridegroom! +The baron was astounded. He looked +at his daughter, then at the specter, and almost +doubted the evidence of his senses. The latter, +too, was wonderfully improved in his appearance +since his visit to the world of spirits. His dress +was splendid, and set off a noble figure of manly +symmetry. He was no longer pale and melancholy. +His fine countenance was flushed with the +glow of youth, and joy rioted in his large dark eye.</p> + +<p>The mystery was soon cleared up. The cavalier +(for in truth, as you must have known all the +while, he was no goblin) announced himself as Sir +Herman Von Starkenfaust. He related his adventure +with the young count. He told how he +had hastened to the castle to deliver the unwelcome +tidings, but that the eloquence of the baron +had interrupted him in every attempt to tell his +tale. How the sight of the bride had completely +captivated him, and that to pass a few hours near +her, he had tacitly suffered the mistake to continue. +How he had been sorely perplexed in what +way to make a decent retreat, until the baron's +goblin stories had suggested his eccentric exit. +How, fearing the feudal hostility of the family, he +had repeated his visits by stealth—had haunted +the garden beneath the young lady's window—had +wooed—had won—had borne away in triumph—and, +in a word, had wedded the fair.</p> + +<p>Under any other circumstances the baron would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span> +have been inflexible, for he was tenacious of paternal +authority, and devoutly obstinate in all +family feuds; but he loved his daughter; he had +lamented her as lost; he rejoiced to find her still +alive; and, though her husband was of a hostile +house, yet, thank Heaven, he was not a goblin. +There was something, it must be acknowledged, +that did not exactly accord with his notions of +strict veracity, in the joke the knight had passed +upon him of his being a dead man; but several old +friends present, who had served in the wars, assured +him that every stratagem was excusable in +love, and that the cavalier was entitled to especial +privilege, having lately served as a trooper.</p> + +<p>Matters, therefore, were happily arranged. The +baron pardoned the young couple on the spot. +The revels at the castle were resumed. The poor +relations overwhelmed this new member of the +family with loving kindness; he was so gallant, so +generous—and so rich. The aunts, it is true, were +somewhat scandalized that their system of strict +seclusion and passive obedience should be so badly +exemplified, but attributed it all to their negligence +in not having the windows grated. One of +them was particularly mortified at having her +marvelous story marred, and that the only +specter she had ever seen should turn out a counterfeit; +but the niece seemed perfectly happy at +having found him substantial flesh and blood—and +so the story ends.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> The erudite reader, well versed in good-for-nothing lore, will +perceive that the above Tale must have been suggested to the old +Swiss by a little French anecdote, a circumstance said to have +taken place at Paris.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> <i>I. e.</i>, <span class="smcap">Cat's-Elbow</span>. The name of a family of those parts +very powerful in former times. The appellation, we are told, +was given in compliment to a peerless dame of the family, +celebrated for her fine arm.</p></div> +</div> +<br /><br /><br /> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338"></a></span></p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="THE_SPECTER_OF_TAPPINGTON" id="THE_SPECTER_OF_TAPPINGTON"></a>THE SPECTER OF TAPPINGTON</h3> +<h4><span class="smcap">Compiled by</span> RICHARD BARHAM</h4> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340"></a></span> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span> +<h2>The Specter of Tappington</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span></p> +<h4>From <i>The Ingoldsby Legends</i><br /> +<span class="smcap">Compiled by</span> RICHARD BARHAM</h4> + + +<p>“It is very odd, though; what can have become +of them?” said Charles Seaforth, as he peeped +under the valance of an old-fashioned bedstead, +in an old-fashioned apartment of a still more old-fashioned +manor-house; “'tis confoundedly odd, +and I can't make it out at all. Why, Barney, +where are they?—and where the d——l are you?”</p> + +<p>No answer was returned to this appeal; and the +lieutenant, who was, in the main, a reasonable +person—at least as reasonable a person as any +young gentleman of twenty-two in “the service” +can fairly be expected to be—cooled when he reflected +that his servant could scarcely reply +extempore to a summons which it was impossible +he should hear.</p> + +<p>An application to the bell was the considerate +result; and the footsteps of as tight a lad as ever +put pipe-clay to belt sounded along the gallery.</p> + +<p>“Come in!” said his master. An ineffectual +attempt upon the door reminded Mr. Seaforth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span> +that he had locked himself in. “By Heaven! this +is the oddest thing of all,” said he, as he turned +the key and admitted Mr. Maguire into his +dormitory.</p> + +<p>“Barney, where are my pantaloons?”</p> + +<p>“Is it the breeches?” asked the valet, casting +an inquiring eye round the apartment;—“is it the +breeches, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, what have you done with them?”</p> + +<p>“Sure then your honor had them on when you +went to bed, and it's hereabouts they'll be, I'll be +bail”; and Barney lifted a fashionable tunic from +a cane-backed arm-chair, proceeding in his examination. +But the search was vain; there was +the tunic aforesaid, there was a smart-looking +kerseymere waistcoat; but the most important +article of all in a gentleman's wardrobe was still +wanting.</p> + +<p>“Where <i>can</i> they be?” asked the master, with a +strong accent on the auxiliary verb.</p> + +<p>“Sorrow a know I knows,” said the man.</p> + +<p>“It <i>must</i> have been the devil, then, after all, +who has been here and carried them off!” cried +Seaforth, staring full into Barney's face.</p> + +<p>Mr. Maguire was not devoid of the superstition +of his countrymen, still he looked as if he did not +quite subscribe to the <i>sequitur</i>.</p> + +<p>His master read incredulity in his countenance. +“Why, I tell you, Barney, I put them there, on +that arm-chair, when I got into bed; and, by +Heaven! I distinctly saw the ghost of the old fellow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span> +they told me of, come in at midnight, put on +my pantaloons, and walk away with them.”</p> + +<p>“May be so,” was the cautious reply.</p> + +<p>“I thought, of course, it was a dream; but then—where +the d——l are the breeches?”</p> + +<p>The question was more easily asked than answered. +Barney renewed his search, while the +lieutenant folded his arms, and, leaning against +the toilet, sunk into a reverie.</p> + +<p>“After all, it must be some trick of my laughter-loving +cousins,” said Seaforth.</p> + +<p>“Ah! then, the ladies!” chimed in Mr. Maguire, +though the observation was not addressed to him; +“and will it be Miss Caroline or Miss Fanny, +that's stole your honor's things?”</p> + +<p>“I hardly know what to think of it,” pursued +the bereaved lieutenant, still speaking in soliloquy, +with his eye resting dubiously on the chamber-door. +“I locked myself in, that's certain; and—but +there must be some other entrance to the room—pooh! +I remember—the private staircase; how +could I be such a fool?” and he crossed the chamber +to where a low oaken doorcase was dimly +visible in a distant corner. He paused before it. +Nothing now interfered to screen it from observation; +but it bore tokens of having been at some +earlier period concealed by tapestry, remains of +which yet clothed the walls on either side the portal.</p> + +<p>“This way they must have come,” said Seaforth; +“I wish with all my heart I had caught +them!”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Och! the kittens!” sighed Mr. Barney +Maguire.</p> + +<p>But the mystery was yet as far from being +solved as before. True, there <i>was</i> the “other +door”; but then that, too, on examination, was +even more firmly secured than the one which +opened on the gallery—two heavy bolts on the +inside effectually prevented any <i>coup de main</i> on +the lieutenant's <i>bivouac</i> from that quarter. He +was more puzzled than ever; nor did the minutest +inspection of the walls and floor throw any light +upon the subject: one thing only was clear—the +breeches were gone! “It is <i>very</i> singular,” said +the lieutenant.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Tappington (generally called Tapton) Everard +is an antiquated but commodious manor-house in +the eastern division of the county of Kent. A +former proprietor had been high-sheriff in the +days of Elizabeth, and many a dark and dismal +tradition was yet extant of the licentiousness of +his life, and the enormity of his offenses. The +Glen, which the keeper's daughter was seen to +enter, but never known to quit, still frowns darkly +as of yore; while an ineradicable blood-stain on +the oaken stair yet bids defiance to the united +energies of soap and sand. But it is with one +particular apartment that a deed of more especial +atrocity is said to be connected. A stranger +guest—so runs the legend—arrived unexpectedly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span> +at the mansion of the “Bad Sir Giles.” They met +in apparent friendship; but the ill-concealed scowl +on their master's brow told the domestics that +the visit was not a welcome one; the banquet, +however, was not spared; the wine-cup circulated +freely—too freely, perhaps—for sounds of discord +at length reached the ears of even the excluded +serving-men, as they were doing their best to +imitate their betters in the lower hall. Alarmed, +some of them ventured to approach the parlor, +one, an old and favored retainer of the house, went +so far as to break in upon his master's privacy. +Sir Giles, already high in oath, fiercely enjoined +his absence, and he retired; not, however, before +he had distinctly heard from the stranger's lips +a menace that “there was that within his pocket +which could disprove the knight's right to issue +that or any other command within the walls of +Tapton.”</p> + +<p>The intrusion, though momentary, seemed to +have produced a beneficial effect; the voices of the +disputants fell, and the conversation was carried +on thenceforth in a more subdued tone, till, as +evening closed in, the domestics, when summoned +to attend with lights, found not only cordiality +restored, but that a still deeper carouse was meditated. +Fresh stoups, and from the choicest bins, +were produced; nor was it till at a late, or rather +early hour, that the revelers sought their +chambers.</p> + +<p>The one allotted to the stranger occupied the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span> +first floor of the eastern angle of the building, and +had once been the favorite apartment of Sir Giles +himself. Scandal ascribed this preference to the +facility which a private staircase, communicating +with the grounds, had afforded him, in the old +knight's time, of following his wicked courses +unchecked by parental observation; a consideration +which ceased to be of weight when the death +of his father left him uncontrolled master of his +estate and actions. From that period Sir Giles +had established himself in what were called the +“state apartments,” and the “oaken chamber” +was rarely tenanted, save on occasions of extraordinary +festivity, or when the yule log drew an +unusually large accession of guests around the +Christmas hearth.</p> + +<p>On this eventful night it was prepared for the +unknown visitor, who sought his couch heated and +inflamed from his midnight orgies, and in the +morning was found in his bed a swollen and +blackened corpse. No marks of violence appeared +upon the body; but the livid hue of the lips, and +certain dark-colored spots visible on the skin, +aroused suspicions which those who entertained +them were too timid to express. Apoplexy, induced +by the excesses of the preceding night, Sir +Giles's confidential leech pronounced to be the +cause of his sudden dissolution. The body was +buried in peace; and though some shook their heads +as they witnessed the haste with which the funeral +rites were hurried on, none ventured to murmur.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span> +Other events arose to distract the attention of the +retainers; men's minds became occupied by the +stirring politics of the day; while the near approach +of that formidable armada, so vainly arrogating +itself a title which the very elements joined with +human valor to disprove, soon interfered to +weaken, if not obliterate, all remembrance of the +nameless stranger who had died within the walls +of Tapton Everard.</p> + +<p>Years rolled on: the “Bad Sir Giles” had himself +long since gone to his account, the last, as it +was believed, of his immediate line; though a few +of the older tenants were sometimes heard to speak +of an elder brother, who had disappeared in early +life, and never inherited the estate. Rumors, too, +of his having left a son in foreign lands, were at +one time rife; but they died away, nothing occurring +to support them: the property passed unchallenged +to a collateral branch of the family, +and the secret, if secret there were, was buried in +Denton churchyard, in the lonely grave of the +mysterious stranger. One circumstance alone +occurred, after a long-intervening period, to revive +the memory of these transactions. Some workmen +employed in grubbing an old plantation, +for the purpose of raising on its site a modern +shrubbery, dug up, in the execution of their task, +the mildewed remnants of what seemed to have +been once a garment. On more minute inspection, +enough remained of silken slashes and a coarse +embroidery, to identify the relics as having once<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span> +formed part of a pair of trunk hose; while a few +papers which fell from them, altogether illegible +from damp and age, were by the unlearned rustics +conveyed to the then owner of the estate.</p> + +<p>Whether the squire was more successful in deciphering +them was never known; he certainly +never alluded to their contents; and little would +have been thought of the matter but for the inconvenient +memory of one old woman, who declared +she heard her grandfather say, that when +the “strange guest” was poisoned, though all the +rest of his clothes were there, his breeches, the +supposed repository of the supposed documents, +could never be found. The master of Tapton +Everard smiled when he heard Dame Jones's hint +of deeds which might impeach the validity of his +own title in favor of some unknown descendant of +some unknown heir; and the story was rarely +alluded to, save by one or two miracle-mongers, +who had heard that others had seen the ghost of +old Sir Giles, in his night-cap, issue from the +postern, enter the adjoining copse, and wring +his shadowy hands in agony, as he seemed to +search vainly for something hidden among the +evergreens. The stranger's death-room had, of +course, been occasionally haunted from the time +of his decease; but the periods of visitation had +latterly become very rare—even Mrs. Botherby, +the housekeeper, being forced to admit that, during +her long sojourn at the manor, she had never +“met with anything worse than herself”; though,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span> +as the old lady afterwards added upon more mature +reflection, “I must say I think I saw the devil +<i>once</i>.”</p> + +<p>Such was the legend attached to Tapton +Everard, and such the story which the lively +Caroline Ingoldsby detailed to her equally mercurial +cousin, Charles Seaforth, lieutenant in the +Hon. East India Company's second regiment of +Bombay Fencibles, as arm-in-arm they promenaded +a gallery decked with some dozen grim-looking +ancestral portraits, and, among others, +with that of the redoubted Sir Giles himself. +The gallant commander had that very morning +paid his first visit to the house of his maternal +uncle, after an absence of several years passed +with his regiment on the arid plains of Hindostan, +whence he was now returned on a three years' +furlough. He had gone out a boy—he returned a +man; but the impression made upon his youthful +fancy by his favorite cousin remained unimpaired, +and to Tapton he directed his steps, even before he +sought the home of his widowed mother—comforting +himself in this breach of filial decorum by +the reflection that, as the manor was so little out +of his way, it would be unkind to pass, as it were, +the door of his relatives, without just looking in +for a few hours.</p> + +<p>But he found his uncle as hospitable, and his +cousin more charming than ever; and the looks of +one, and the requests of the other, soon precluded +the possibility of refusing to lengthen the “few<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span> +hours” into a few days, though the house was at +the moment full of visitors.</p> + +<p>The Peterses were from Ramsgate; and Mr., +Mrs., and the two Miss Simpkinsons, from Bath, +had come to pass a month with the family; and +Tom Ingoldsby had brought down his college +friend the Honorable Augustus Sucklethumbkin, +with his groom and pointers, to take a fortnight's +shooting. And then there was Mrs. Ogleton, the +rich young widow, with her large black eyes, who, +people did say, was setting her cap at the young +squire, though Mrs. Botherby did not believe it; +and, above all, there was Mademoiselle Pauline, +her <i>femme de chambre</i>, who “<i>mon-Dieu'd</i>” everything +and everybody, and cried “<i>Quel horreur!</i>” +at Mrs. Botherby's cap. In short, to use the last-named +and much-respected lady's own expression, +the house was “choke-full” to the very attics—all +save the “oaken chamber,” which, as the +lieutenant expressed a most magnanimous disregard +of ghosts, was forthwith appropriated to his +particular accommodation. Mr. Maguire meanwhile +was fain to share the apartment of Oliver +Dobbs, the squire's own man; a jocular proposal +of joint occupancy having been first indignantly +rejected by “Mademoiselle,” though preferred +with the “laste taste in life” of Mr. Barney's most +insinuating brogue.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>“Come, Charles, the urn is absolutely getting +cold; your breakfast will be quite spoiled: what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span> +can have made you so idle?” Such was the morning +salutation of Miss Ingoldsby to the <i>militaire</i> +as he entered the breakfast-room half an hour after +the latest of the party.</p> + +<p>“A pretty gentleman, truly, to make an appointment +with,” chimed in Miss Frances. “What is become +of our ramble to the rocks before breakfast?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! the young men never think of keeping a +promise now,” said Mrs. Peters, a little ferret-faced +woman with underdone eyes.</p> + +<p>“When I was a young man,” said Mr. Peters, +“I remember I always made a point of——”</p> + +<p>“Pray, how long ago was that?” asked Mr. +Simpkinson from Bath.</p> + +<p>“Why, sir, when I married Mrs. Peters, I was—let +me see—I was——”</p> + +<p>“Do pray hold your tongue, P., and eat your +breakfast!” interrupted his better half, who had +a mortal horror of chronological references; “it's +very rude to tease people with your family affairs.”</p> + +<p>The lieutenant had by this time taken his seat +in silence—a good-humored nod, and a glance, +half-smiling, half-inquisitive, being the extent of +his salutation. Smitten as he was, and in the +immediate presence of her who had made so large +a hole in his heart, his manner was evidently <i>distrait</i>, +which the fair Caroline in her secret soul +attributed to his being solely occupied by her +<i>agrèmens</i>: how would she have bridled had she +known that they only shared his meditations with +a pair of breeches!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span></p> + +<p>Charles drank his coffee and spiked some half-dozen +eggs, darting occasionally a penetrating +glance at the ladies, in hope of detecting the supposed +waggery by the evidence of some furtive +smile or conscious look. But in vain; not a dimple +moved indicative of roguery, nor did the slightest +elevation of eyebrow rise confirmative of his suspicions. +Hints and insinuations passed unheeded—more +particular inquiries were out of the question—the +subject was unapproachable.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, “patent cords” were just the +thing for a morning's ride; and, breakfast ended, +away cantered the party over the downs, till, every +faculty absorbed by the beauties, animate and +inanimate, which surrounded him. Lieutenant +Seaforth of the Bombay Fencibles bestowed no +more thought upon his breeches than if he had +been born on the top of Ben Lomond.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Another night had passed away; the sun rose +brilliantly, forming with his level beams a splendid +rainbow in the far-off west, whither the heavy +cloud, which for the last two hours had been +pouring its waters on the earth, was now flying +before him.</p> + +<p>“Ah! then, and it's little good it'll be the claning +of ye,” apostrophized Mr. Barney Maguire, as he +deposited, in front of his master's toilet, a pair of +“bran new” jockey boots, one of Hoby's primest +fits, which the lieutenant had purchased in his way<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span> +through town. On that very morning had they +come for the first time under the valet's depurating +hand, so little soiled, indeed, from the turfy ride +of the preceding day, that a less scrupulous domestic +might, perhaps, have considered the application +of “Warren's Matchless,” or oxalic acid, altogether +superfluous. Not so Barney: with the +nicest care had he removed the slightest impurity +from each polished surface, and there they stood, +rejoicing in their sable radiance. No wonder a +pang shot across Mr. Maguire's breast as he +thought on the work now cut out for them, so +different from the light labors of the day before; +no wonder he murmured with a sigh, as the scarce +dried window-panes disclosed a road now inch deep +in mud! “Ah! then, it's little good claning of ye!”—for +well had he learned in the hall below that +eight miles of a stiff clay soil lay between the manor +and Bolsover Abbey, whose picturesque ruins,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">“Like ancient Rome, majestic in decay,”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>the party had determined to explore. The master +had already commenced dressing, and the man was +fitting straps upon a light pair of crane-necked +spurs, when his hand was arrested by the old +question—“Barney, where are the breeches?”</p> + +<p>They were nowhere to be found!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Mr. Seaforth descended that morning, whip in +hand, and equipped in a handsome green riding-frock,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span> +but no “breeches and boots to match” were +there: loose jean trousers, surmounting a pair of +diminutive Wellingtons, embraced, somewhat incongruously, +his nether man, <i>vice</i> the “patent cords,” +returned, like yesterday's pantaloons, absent without +leave. The “top-boots” had a holiday.</p> + +<p>“A fine morning after the rain,” said Mr. +Simpkinson from Bath.</p> + +<p>“Just the thing for the 'ops,” said Mr. Peters. +“I remember when I was a boy——”</p> + +<p>“Do hold your tongue, P.,” said Mrs. Peters—advice +which that exemplary matron was in the +constant habit of administering to “her P.” as she +called him, whenever he prepared to vent his +reminiscences. Her precise reason for this it +would be difficult to determine, unless, indeed, the +story be true which a little bird had whispered +into Mrs. Botherby's ear—Mr. Peters, though now +a wealthy man had received a liberal education +at a charity school, and was apt to recur to the +days of his muffin-cap and leathers. As usual, +he took his wife's hint in good part, and “paused +in his reply.”</p> + +<p>“A glorious day for the ruins!” said young +Ingoldsby. “But Charles, what the deuce are +you about? you don't mean to ride through our +lanes in such toggery as that?”</p> + +<p>“Lassy me!” said Miss Julia Simpkinson, +“won't yo' be very wet?”</p> + +<p>“You had better take Tom's cab,” quoth the +squire.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span></p> + +<p>But this proposition was at once over-ruled; +Mrs. Ogleton had already nailed the cab, a vehicle +of all others the best adapted for a snug flirtation.</p> + +<p>“Or drive Miss Julia in the phaeton?” No; +that was the post of Mr. Peters, who, indifferent +as an equestrian, had acquired some fame as a +whip while traveling through the midland counties +for the firm of Bagshaw, Snivelby, and Ghrimes.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, I shall ride with my cousins,” +said Charles, with as much <i>nonchalance</i> as he could +assume—and he did so; Mr. Ingoldsby, Mrs. +Peters, Mr. Simpkinson from Bath, and his eldest +daughter with her <i>album</i>, following in the family +coach. The gentleman-commoner “voted the +affair d——d slow,” and declined the party altogether +in favor of the gamekeeper and a cigar. +“There was 'no fun' in looking at old houses!” +Mrs. Simpkinson preferred a short <i>séjour</i> in the +still-room with Mrs. Botherby, who had promised +to initiate her in that grand <i>arcanum</i>, the transmutation +of gooseberry jam into Guava jelly.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>“Did you ever see an old abbey before, Mrs. +Peters?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, miss, a French one; we have got one at +Ramsgate; he teaches the Miss Joneses to parley-voo +and is turned of sixty.”</p> + +<p>Miss Simpkinson closed her album with an air +of ineffable disdain.</p> + +<p>Mr. Simpkinson from Bath was a professed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span> +antiquary, and one of the first water; he was +master of Gwillim's Heraldry, and Mill's History +of the Crusades; knew every plate in the Monasticon; +had written an essay on the origin and dignity +of the office of overseer, and settled the date on +a Queen Anne's farthing. An influential member +of the Antiquarian Society, to whose “Beauties of +Bagnigge Wells” he had been a liberal subscriber, +procured him a seat at the board of that learned +body, since which happy epoch Sylvanus Urban +had not a more indefatigable correspondent. His +inaugural essay on the President's cocked hat was +considered a miracle of erudition; and his account +of the earliest application of gilding to gingerbread, +a masterpiece of antiquarian research. His eldest +daughter was of a kindred spirit: if her father's +mantle had not fallen upon her, it was only because +he had not thrown it off himself; she had caught +hold of its tail, however, while it yet hung upon +his honored shoulders. To souls so congenial, +what a sight was the magnificent ruin of Bolsover! +its broken arches, its mouldering pinnacles, and +the airy tracery of its half-demolished windows. +The party were in raptures; Mr. Simpkinson began +to meditate an essay, and his daughter an +ode: even Seaforth, as he gazed on these lonely +relics of the olden time, was betrayed into a +momentary forgetfulness of his love and losses; +the widow's eye-glass turned from her <i>cicisbeo's</i> +whiskers to the mantling ivy; Mrs. Peters wiped +her spectacles; and “her P.” supposed the central<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span> +tower “had once been the county jail.” The squire +was a philosopher, and had been there often before, +so he ordered out the cold tongue and chickens.</p> + +<p>“Bolsover Priory,” said Mr. Simpkinson, with +the air of a connoisseur—“Bolsover Priory was +founded in the reign of Henry the Sixth, about the +beginning of the eleventh century. Hugh de +Bolsover had accompanied that monarch to the +Holy Land, in the expedition undertaken by way +of penance for the murder of his young nephews +in the Tower. Upon the dissolution of the monasteries, +the veteran was enfeoffed in the lands +and manor, to which he gave his own name of +Bowlsover, or Bee-owls-over (by corruption Bolsover)—a +Bee in chief, over three Owls, all proper, +being the armorial ensigns borne by this distinguished +crusader at the siege of Acre.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! that was Sir Sidney Smith,” said Mr. +Peters; “I've heard tell of him, and all about Mrs. +Partington, and——”</p> + +<p>“P. be quiet, and don't expose yourself!” +sharply interrupted his lady. P. was silenced, +and betook himself to the bottled stout.</p> + +<p>“These lands,” continued the antiquary, “were +held in grand serjeantry by the presentation of +three white owls and pot of honey——”</p> + +<p>“Lassy me! how nice!” said Miss Julia. Mr. +Peters licked his lips.</p> + +<p>“Pray give me leave, my dear—owls and honey, +whenever the king should come a rat-catching into +this part of the country.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Rat-catching!” ejaculated the squire, pausing +abruptly in the mastication of a drumstick.</p> + +<p>“To be sure, my dear sir; don't you remember +the rats came under the forest laws—a minor +species of venison? 'Rats and mice, and such +small deer,' eh?—Shakespeare, you know. Our +ancestors ate rats ('The nasty fellows!' shuddered +Miss Julia, in a parenthesis); and owls, you know, +are capital mousers——”</p> + +<p>“I've seen a howl,” said Mr. Peters; “there's +one in the Sohological Gardens—a little hook-nosed +chap in a wig—only its feathers and——”</p> + +<p>Poor P. was destined never to finish a speech.</p> + +<p>“<i>Do</i> be quiet!” cried the authoritative voice; +and the would-be naturalist shrank into his shell, +like a snail in the “Sohological Gardens.”</p> + +<p>“You should read Blount's <i>Jocular Tenures</i>, +Mr. Ingoldsby,” pursued Simpkinson. “A learned +man was Blount! Why, sir, His Royal Highness +the Duke of York once paid a silver horse-shoe to +Lord Ferrers——”</p> + +<p>“I've heard of him,” broke in the incorrigible +Peters; “he was hanged at the Old Bailey in a +silk rope for shooting Dr. Johnson.”</p> + +<p>The antiquary vouchsafed no notice of the interruption; +but, taking a pinch of snuff, continued +his harangue.</p> + +<p>“A silver horse-shoe, sir, which is due from every +scion of royalty who rides across one of his manors; +and if you look into the penny county histories, +now publishing by an eminent friend of mine, you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span> +will find that Langhale in Co. Norf. was held by +one Baldwin <i>per saltum, sufflatum, et pettum</i>; that +is, he was to come every Christmas into Westminster +Hall, there to take a leap, cry hem! and——”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Simpkinson, a glass of sherry?” cried Tom +Ingoldsby, hastily.</p> + +<p>“Not any, thank you, sir. This Baldwin, +surnamed <i>Le——</i>”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Ogleton challenges you, sir; she insists +upon it,” said Tom still more rapidly, at the same +time filling a glass, and forcing it on the <i>sçavant</i>, +who, thus arrested in the very crisis of his narrative, +received and swallowed the potation as if it +had been physic.</p> + +<p>“What on earth has Miss Simpkinson discovered +there?” continued Tom; “something of interest. +See how fast she is writing.”</p> + +<p>The diversion was effectual; every one looked +towards Miss Simpkinson, who, far too ethereal +for “creature comforts,” was seated apart on the +dilapidated remains of an altar-tomb, committing +eagerly to paper something that had strongly +impressed her; the air—the eye in a “fine frenzy +rolling”—all betokened that the divine <i>afflarus</i> +was come. Her father rose, and stole silently +towards her.</p> + +<p>“What an old boar!” muttered young Ingoldsby; +alluding, perhaps, to a slice of brawn which +he had just begun to operate upon, but which, +from the celerity with which it disappeared, did +not seem so very difficult of mastication.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span></p> + +<p>But what had become of Seaforth and his fair +Caroline all this while? Why, it so happened that +they had been simultaneously stricken with the +picturesque appearance of one of those high and +pointed arches, which that eminent antiquary, +Mr. Horseley Curties, has described in his <i>Ancient +Records</i>, as “a <i>Gothic</i> window of the <i>Saxon</i> order”; +and then the ivy clustered so thickly and so beautifully +on the other side, that they went round to +look at that; and then their proximity deprived +it of half its effect, and so they walked across to a +little knoll, a hundred yards off, and in crossing a +small ravine, they came to what in Ireland they +call “a bad step,” and Charles had to carry his +cousin over it; and then when they had to come +back, she would not give him the trouble again for +the world, so they followed a better but more +circuitous route, and there were hedges and ditches +in the way, and stiles to get over and gates to +get through, so that an hour or more had elapsed +before they were able to rejoin the party.</p> + +<p>“Lassy me!” said Miss Julia Simpkinson, “how +long you have been gone!”</p> + +<p>And so they had. The remark was a very just +as well as a very natural one. They were gone a +long while, and a nice cosy chat they had; and +what do you think it was all about, my dear miss?</p> + +<p>“O lassy me! love, no doubt, and the moon, and +eyes, and nightingales, and——”</p> + +<p>Stay, stay, my sweet young lady; do not let the +fervor of your feelings run away with you! I do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span> +not pretend to say, indeed, that one or more of +these pretty subjects might not have been introduced; +but the most important and leading topic +of the conference was—Lieutenant Seaforth's +breeches.</p> + +<p>“Caroline,” said Charles, “I have had some +very odd dreams since I have been at Tappington.”</p> + +<p>“Dreams, have you?” smiled the young lady, +arching her taper neck like a swan in pluming. +“Dreams, have you?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, dreams—or dream, perhaps, I should say; +for, though repeated, it was still the same. And +what do you imagine was its subject?”</p> + +<p>“It is impossible for me to divine,” said the +tongue; “I have not the least difficulty in guessing,” +said the eye, as plainly as ever eye spoke.</p> + +<p>“I dreamt—of your great-grandfather!”</p> + +<p>There was a change in the glance—“My great-grandfather?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, the old Sir Giles, or Sir John, you told +me about the other day: he walked into my bedroom +in his short cloak of murrey-colored velvet, +his long rapier, and his Raleigh-looking hat and +feather, just as the picture represents him; but +with one exception.”</p> + +<p>“And what was that?”</p> + +<p>“Why, his lower extremities, which were visible, +were those of a skeleton.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“Well, after taking a turn or two about the +room, and looking round him with a wistful air, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span> +came to the bed's foot, stared at me in a manner +impossible to describe—and then he—he laid hold +of my pantaloons; whipped his long bony legs into +them in a twinkling; and strutting up to the glass, +seemed to view himself in it with great complacency. +I tried to speak, but in vain. The +effort, however, seemed to excite his attention; +for, wheeling about, he showed me the grimmest-looking +death's head you can well imagine, and +with an indescribable grin strutted out of the +room.”</p> + +<p>“Absurd! Charles. How can you talk such +nonsense?”</p> + +<p>“But, Caroline—the breeches are really gone.”</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>On the following morning, contrary to his usual +custom, Seaforth was the first person in the breakfast +parlor. As no one else was present, he did +precisely what nine young men out of ten so situated +would have done; he walked up to the mantelpiece, +established himself upon the rug, and +subducting his coat-tails one under each arm, +turned towards the fire that portion of the human +frame which it is considered equally indecorous +to present to a friend or an enemy. A serious, +not to say anxious, expression was visible upon +his good-humored countenance, and his mouth +was fast buttoning itself up for an incipient +whistle, when little Flo, a tiny spaniel of the Blenheim +breed—the pet object of Miss Julia Simpkinson's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span> +affections—bounced out from beneath a sofa, +and began to bark at—his pantaloons.</p> + +<p>They were cleverly “built,” of a light-grey +mixture, a broad stripe of the most vivid scarlet +traversing each seam in a perpendicular direction +from hip to ankle—in short, the regimental +costume of the Royal Bombay Fencibles. The +animal, educated in the country, had never seen +such a pair of breeches in her life—<i>Omne ignotum +pro magnifico!</i> The scarlet streak, inflamed as it +was by the reflection of the fire, seemed to act +on Flora's nerves as the same color does on those +of bulls and turkeys; she advanced at the <i>pas de +charge</i>, and her vociferation, like her amazement, +was unbounded. A sound kick from the disgusted +officer changed its character, and induced a retreat +at the very moment when the mistress of the +pugnacious quadruped entered to the rescue.</p> + +<p>“Lassy me! Flo, what <i>is</i> the matter?” cried +the sympathizing lady, with a scrutinizing glance +leveled at the gentleman.</p> + +<p>It might as well have lighted on a feather bed. +His air of imperturbable unconsciousness defied +examination; and as he would not, and Flora +could not, expound, that injured individual was +compelled to pocket up her wrongs. Others of +the household soon dropped in, and clustered +round the board dedicated to the most sociable of +meals; the urn was paraded “hissing hot,” and +the cups which “cheer, but not inebriate,” steamed +redolent of hyson and pekoe; muffins and marmalade,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span> +newspapers, and Finnan haddies, left little +room for observation on the character of Charles's +warlike “turn-out.” At length a look from Caroline, +followed by a smile that nearly ripened to a +titter, caused him to turn abruptly and address +his neighbor. It was Miss Simpkinson, who, +deeply engaged in sipping her tea and turning over +her album, seemed, like a female Chrononotonthologos, +“immersed in cogibundity of cogitation.” +An interrogatory on the subject of her studies +drew from her the confession that she was at that +moment employed in putting the finishing touches +to a poem inspired by the romantic shades of +Bolsover. The entreaties of the company were +of course urgent. Mr. Peters, “who liked verses,” +was especially persevering, and Sappho at length +compliant. After a preparatory hem! and a +glance at the mirror to ascertain that her look was +sufficiently sentimental, the poetess began:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“There is a calm, a holy feeling,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Vulgar minds, can never know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the bosom softly stealing,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Chasten'd grief, delicious woe!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! how sweet at eve regaining<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yon lone tower's sequester'd shade—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sadly mute and uncomplaining——”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>“—Yow!—yeough!—yeough!—yow!—yow!” yelled +a hapless sufferer from beneath the table. It was +an unlucky hour for quadrupeds; and if “every +dog will have his day,” he could not have selected<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span> +a more unpropitious one than this. Mrs. Ogleton, +too, had a pet—a favorite pug—whose squab +figure, black muzzle, and tortuosity of tail, that +curled like a head of celery in a salad-bowl, bespoke +his Dutch extraction. Yow! yow! yow! +continued the brute—a chorus in which Flo instantly +joined. Sooth to say, pug had more reason +to express his dissatisfaction than was given him +by the muse of Simpkinson; the other only barked +for company. Scarcely had the poetess got +through her first stanza, when Tom Ingoldsby, +in the enthusiasm of the moment, became so lost +in the material world, that, in his abstraction, he +unwarily laid his hand on the cock of the urn. +Quivering with emotion, he gave it such an unlucky +twist, that the full stream of its scalding contents +descended on the gingerbread hide of the unlucky +Cupid. The confusion was complete; the whole +economy of the table disarranged—the company +broke up in most admired disorder—and “vulgar +minds will never know” anything more of Miss +Simpkinson's ode till they peruse it in some +forthcoming Annual.</p> + +<p>Seaforth profited by the confusion to take the +delinquent who had caused this “stramash” by +the arm, and to lead him to the lawn, where he had +a word or two for his private ear. The conference +between the young gentlemen was neither brief +in its duration nor unimportant in its result. The +subject was what the lawyers call tripartite, embracing +the information that Charles Seaforth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span> +was over head and ears in love with Tom Ingoldsby's +sister; secondly, that the lady had referred +him to “papa” for his sanction; thirdly, and +lastly, his nightly visitations and consequent +bereavement. At the two first times Tom smiled +suspiciously—at the last he burst out into an +absolute “guffaw.”</p> + +<p>“Steal your breeches! Miss Bailey over again, +by Jove,” shouted Ingoldsby. “But a gentleman, +you say—and Sir Giles, too. I am not sure, +Charles, whether I ought not to call you out for +aspersing the honor of the family.”</p> + +<p>“Laugh as you will, Tom—be as incredulous +as you please. One fact is incontestable—the +breeches are gone! Look here—I am reduced to +my regimentals; and if these go, to-morrow I must +borrow of you!”</p> + +<p>Rochefoucault says, there is something in the +misfortunes of our very best friends that does not +displease us; assuredly we can, most of us, laugh +at their petty inconveniences, till called upon to +supply them. Tom composed his features on the +instant, and replied with more gravity, as well as +with an expletive, which, if my Lord Mayor had +been within hearing might have cost him five +shillings.</p> + +<p>“There is something very queer in this, after +all. The clothes, you say, have positively disappeared. +Somebody is playing you a trick; and, +ten to one, your servant had a hand in it. By the +way, I heard something yesterday of his kicking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span> +up a bobbery in the kitchen, and seeing a ghost, or +something of that kind, himself. Depend upon +it, Barney is in the plot.”</p> + +<p>It now struck the lieutenant at once, that the +usually buoyant spirits of his attendant had of late +been materially sobered down, his loquacity obviously +circumscribed, and that he, the said +lieutenant, had actually rung his bell three several +times that very morning before he could procure +his attendance. Mr. Maguire was forthwith +summoned, and underwent a close examination. +The “bobbery” was easily explained. Mr. Oliver +Dobbs had hinted his disapprobation of a flirtation +carrying on between the gentleman from +Munster and the lady from the Rue St. Honoré. +Mademoiselle had boxed Mr. Maguire's ears, and +Mr. Maguire had pulled Mademoiselle upon his +knee, and the lady had <i>not</i> cried <i>Mon Dieu!</i> And +Mr. Oliver Dobbs said it was very wrong; and Mrs. +Botherby said it was “scandalous,” and what +ought not to be done in any moral kitchen; and +Mr. Maguire had got hold of the Honorable +Augustus Sucklethumbkin's powder-flask, and had +put large pinches of the best Double Dartford +into Mr. Dobbs's tobacco-box; and Mr. Dobbs's +pipe had exploded, and set fire to Mrs. Botherby's +Sunday cap; and Mr. Maguire had put it out with +the slop-basin, “barring the wig”; and then they +were all so “cantankerous,” that Barney had gone +to take a walk in the garden; and then—then Mr. +Barney had seen a ghost.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span></p> + +<p>“A what? you blockhead!” asked Tom +Ingoldsby.</p> + +<p>“Sure then, and it's meself will tell your honor +the rights of it,” said the ghost-seer. “Meself +and Miss Pauline, sir—or Miss Pauline and meself, +for the ladies comes first anyhow—we got +tired of the hobstroppylous scrimmaging among +the ould servants, that didn't know a joke when +they seen one: and we went out to look at the +comet—that's the rorybory-alehouse, they calls +him in this country—and we walked upon the +lawn—and divil of any alehouse there was there +at all; and Miss Pauline said it was bekase of the +shrubbery maybe, and why wouldn't we see it +better beyonst the tree? and so we went to the +trees, but sorrow a comet did meself see there, +barring a big ghost instead of it.”</p> + +<p>“A ghost? And what sort of a ghost, Barney?”</p> + +<p>“Och, then, divil a lie I'll tell your honor. A +tall ould gentleman he was, all in white, with a +shovel on the shoulder of him, and a big torch in +his fist—though what he wanted with that it's +meself can't tell, for his eyes were like gig-lamps, let +alone the moon and the comet, which wasn't there +at all—and 'Barney,' says he to me—'cause why +he knew me—'Barney,' says he, 'what is it you're +doing with the <i>colleen</i> there, Barney?'—Divil a +word did I say. Miss Pauline screeched, and +cried murther in French, and ran off with herself; +and of course meself was in a mighty hurry after +the lady, and had no time to stop palavering with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span> +him any way: so I dispersed at once, and the ghost +vanished in a flame of fire!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Maguire's account was received with +avowed incredulity by both gentlemen; but Barney +stuck to his text with unflinching pertinacity. A +reference to Mademoiselle was suggested, but +abandoned, as neither party had a taste for delicate +investigations.</p> + +<p>“I'll tell you what, Seaforth,” said Ingoldsby, +after Barney had received his dismissal, “that +there is a trick here, is evident; and Barney's +vision may possibly be a part of it. Whether he is +most knave or fool, you best know. At all events, +I will sit up with you to-night, and see if I can +convert my ancestor into a visiting acquaintance. +Meanwhile your finger on your lip!”</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas now the very witching time of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When churchyards yawn, and graves give up their dead.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Gladly would I grace my tale with decent horror, +and therefore I do beseech the “gentle reader” to +believe, that if all the <i>succedanea</i> to this mysterious +narrative are not in strict keeping, he will +ascribe it only to the disgraceful innovations of +modern degeneracy upon the sober and dignified +habits of our ancestors. I can introduce him, it +is true, into an old and high-roofed chamber, its +walls covered in three sides with black oak wainscoting, +adorned with carvings of fruit and flowers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span> +long anterior to those of Grinling Gibbons; the +fourth side is clothed with a curious remnant of +dingy tapestry, once elucidatory of some Scriptural +history, but of <i>which</i> not even Mrs. Botherby +could determine. Mr. Simpkinson, who had +examined it carefully, inclined to believe the +principal figure to be either Bathsheba, or Daniel +in the lions' den; while Tom Ingoldsby decided in +favor of the king of Bashan. All, however, was +conjecture, tradition being silent on the subject. +A lofty arched portal led into, and a little arched +portal led out of, this apartment; they were opposite +each other, and each possessed the security +of massy bolts on its interior. The bedstead, too, +was not one of yesterday, but manifestly coeval +with days ere Seddons was, and when a good four-post +“article” was deemed worthy of being a +royal bequest. The bed itself, with all the appurtenances +of palliasse, mattresses, etc., was of far +later date, and looked most incongruously comfortable; +the casements, too, with their little diamond-shaped +panes and iron binding, had given way to +the modern heterodoxy of the sash-window. Nor +was this all that conspired to ruin the costume, and +render the room a meet haunt for such “mixed +spirits” only as could condescend to don at the +same time an Elizabethan doublet and Bond Street +inexpressibles.</p> + +<p>With their green morocco slippers on a modern +fender, in front of a disgracefully modern grate, +sat two young gentlemen, clad in “shawl pattern”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span> +dressing-gowns and black silk stocks, much at +variance with the high cane-backed chairs which +supported them. A bunch of abomination, called +a cigar, reeked in the left-hand corner of the mouth +of one, and in the right-hand corner of the mouth of +the other—an arrangement happily adapted for +the escape of the noxious fumes up the chimney, +without that unmerciful “funking” each other, +which a less scientific disposition of the weed +would have induced. A small pembroke table +filled up the intervening space between them, sustaining, +at each extremity, an elbow and a glass +of toddy—thus in “lonely pensive contemplation” +were the two worthies occupied, when the “iron +tongue of midnight had tolled twelve.”</p> + +<p>“Ghost-time's come!” said Ingoldsby, taking +from his waistcoat pocket a watch like a gold +half-crown, and consulting it as though he suspected +the turret-clock over the stables of +mendacity.</p> + +<p>“Hush!” said Charles; “did I not hear a footstep?”</p> + +<p>There was a pause—there <i>was</i> a footstep—it +sounded distinctly—it reached the door it hesitated, +stopped, and—passed on.</p> + +<p>Tom darted across the room, threw open the +door, and became aware of Mrs. Botherby toddling +to her chamber, at the other end of the gallery, +after dosing one of the housemaids with an approved +julep from the Countess of Kent's “Choice +Manual.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[372]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Good-night, sir!” said Mrs. Botherby.</p> + +<p>“Go to the d——l!” said the disappointed ghost-hunter.</p> + +<p>An hour—two—rolled on, and still no spectral +visitation; nor did aught intervene to make night +hideous; and when the turret-clock sounded at +length the hour of three, Ingoldsby, whose patience +and grog were alike exhausted, sprang from his +chair, saying:</p> + +<p>“This is all infernal nonsense, my good fellow. +Deuce of any ghost shall we see to-night; it's long +past the canonical hour. I'm off to bed; and as +to your breeches, I'll insure them for the next +twenty-four hours at least, at the price of the +buckram.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly.—Oh! thank'ee—to be sure!” stammered +Charles, rousing himself from a reverie, +which had degenerated into an absolute snooze.</p> + +<p>“Good-night, my boy! Bolt the door behind +me; and defy the Pope, the Devil, and the +Pretender!”</p> + +<p>Seaforth followed his friend's advice, and the +next morning came down to breakfast dressed in +the habiliments of the preceding day. The charm +was broken, the demon defeated; the light greys +with the red stripe down the seams were yet <i>in +rerum naturâ</i>, and adorned the person of their +lawful proprietor.</p> + +<p>Tom felicitated himself and his partner of the +watch on the result of their vigilance; but there is +a rustic adage, which warns us against self-gratulation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span> +before we are quite “out of the wood.”—Seaforth +was yet within its verge.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>A rap at Tom Ingoldsby's door the following +morning startled him as he was shaving—he cut +his chin.</p> + +<p>“Come in, and be d——d to you!” said the martyr, +pressing his thumb on the scarified epidermis. The +door opened, and exhibited Mr. Barney Maguire.</p> + +<p>“Well, Barney, what is it?” quoth the sufferer, +adopting the vernacular of his visitant.</p> + +<p>“The master, sir——”</p> + +<p>“Well, what does he want?”</p> + +<p>“The loanst of a breeches, plase your honor.”</p> + +<p>“Why, you don't mean to tell me—By +Heaven, this is too good!” shouted Tom, bursting +into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. “Why, +Barney, you don't mean to say the ghost has got +them again?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Maguire did not respond to the young +squire's risibility; the cast of his countenance was +decidedly serious.</p> + +<p>“Faith, then, it's gone they are sure enough! +Hasn't meself been looking over the bed, and +under the bed, and <i>in</i> the bed, for the matter of +that, and divil a ha'p'orth of breeches is there +to the fore at all:—I'm bothered entirely!”</p> + +<p>“Hark'ee! Mr. Barney,” said Tom, incautiously +removing his thumb, and letting a crimson +stream “incarnadine the multitudinous” lather<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[374]</a></span> +that plastered his throat—“this may be all very +well with your master, but you don't humbug <i>me</i>, +sir:—Tell me instantly what have you done with +the clothes?”</p> + +<p>This abrupt transition from “lively to severe” +certainly took Maguire by surprise, and he seemed +for an instant as much disconcerted as it is possible +to disconcert an Irish gentleman's gentleman.</p> + +<p>“Me? is it meself, then, that's the ghost to your +honor's thinking?” said he after a moment's pause, +and with a slight shade of indignation in his tones; +“is it I would stale the master's things—and what +would I do with them?”</p> + +<p>“That you best know: what your purpose is I +can't guess, for I don't think you mean to 'stale' +them, as you call it; but that you are concerned +in their disappearance, I am satisfied. Confound +this blood!—give me a towel, Barney.”</p> + +<p>Maguire acquitted himself of the commission. +“As I've a sowl, your honor,” said he, solemnly, +“little it is meself knows of the matter: and after +what I seen——”</p> + +<p>“What you've seen! Why, what <i>have</i> you seen?—Barney, +I don't want to inquire into your flirtations; +but don't suppose you can palm off your +saucer eyes and gig-lamps upon me!”</p> + +<p>“Then, as sure as your honor's standing there, +I saw him: and why wouldn't I, when Miss <i>Pauline</i> +was to the fore as well as meself, and——”</p> + +<p>“Get along with your nonsense—leave the room, +sir!”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a></span></p> + +<p>“But the master?” said Barney, imploringly; +“and without a breeches?—sure he'll be catching +cowld——!”</p> + +<p>“Take that, rascal!” replied Ingoldsby, throwing +a pair of pantaloons at, rather than to, him: +“but don't suppose, sir, you shall carry on your +tricks here with impunity; recollect there is such +a thing as a treadmill, and that my father is a +county magistrate.”</p> + +<p>Barney's eye flashed fire—he stood erect, and +was about to speak; but, mastering himself, not +without an effort, he took up the garment, and left +the room as perpendicular as a Quaker.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>“Ingoldsby,” said Charles Seaforth, after breakfast, +“this is now past a joke; to-day is the last of +my stay; for, notwithstanding the ties which detain +me, common decency obliges me to visit home +after so long an absence. I shall come to an immediate +explanation with your father on the subject +nearest my heart, and depart while I have a +change of dress left. On his answer will my return +depend! In the meantime tell me candidly—I +ask it in all seriousness, and as a friend—am I +not a dupe to your well-known propensity to +hoaxing? have you not a hand in——”</p> + +<p>“No, by heaven, Seaforth; I see what you mean: +on my honor, I am as much mystified as yourself; +and if your servant——”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Not he:—If there be a trick, he at least is not +privy to it.”</p> + +<p>“If there <i>be</i> a trick? why, Charles, do you, +think——”</p> + +<p>“I know not <i>what</i> to think, Tom. As surely as +you are a living man, so surely did that spectral +anatomy visit my room again last night, grin in +my face, and walk away with my trousers; nor was +I able to spring from my bed, or break the chain +which seemed to bind me to my pillow.”</p> + +<p>“Seaforth!” said Ingoldsby, after a short pause, +“I will—But hush! here are the girls and my +father. I will carry off the females, and leave you +a clear field with the governor: carry your point +with him, and we will talk about your breeches +afterwards.”</p> + +<p>Tom's diversion was successful; he carried off +the ladies <i>en masse</i> to look at a remarkable specimen +of the class <i>Dodecandria Monogynia</i>—which +they could not find—while Seaforth marched +boldly up to the encounter, and carried “the +governor's” outworks by a <i>coup de main</i>. I shall +not stop to describe the progress of the attack; +suffice it that it was as successful as could have +been wished, and that Seaforth was referred back +again to the lady. The happy lover was off at a +tangent; the botanical party was soon overtaken; +and the arm of Caroline, whom a vain endeavor to +spell out the Linnæan name of a daffy-down-dilly +had detained a little in the rear of the others, was +soon firmly locked in his own.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">What was the world to them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its noise, its nonsense and its “breeches” all?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Seaforth was in the seventh heaven; he retired to +his room that night as happy as if no such thing as +a goblin had ever been heard of, and personal +chattels were as well fenced in by law as real +property. Not so Tom Ingoldsby: the mystery—for +mystery there evidently was—had not only +piqued his curiosity, but ruffled his temper. The +watch of the previous night had been unsuccessful, +probably because it was undisguised. To-night +he would “ensconce himself”—not indeed “behind +the arras”—for the little that remained was, +as we have seen, nailed to the wall—but in a small +closet which opened from one corner of the room, +and by leaving the door ajar, would give to its +occupant a view of all that might pass in the apartment. +Here did the young ghost-hunter take up +a position, with a good stout sapling under his arm, +a full half-hour before Seaforth retired for the +night. Not even his friend did he let into his confidence, +fully determined that if his plan did not +succeed, the failure should be attributed to himself +alone.</p> + +<p>At the usual hour of separation for the night, +Tom saw, from his concealment, the lieutenant +enter his room, and after taking a few turns in it, +with an expression so joyous as to betoken that +his thoughts were mainly occupied by his approaching +happiness, proceed slowly to disrobe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[378]</a></span> +himself. The coat, the waistcoat, the black silk +stock, were gradually discarded; the green morocco +slippers were kicked off, and then—ay, and then—his +countenance grew grave; it seemed to occur to +him all at once that this was his last stake—nay, +that the very breeches he had on were not his own—that +to-morrow morning was his last, and that +if he lost <i>them</i>—A glance showed that his mind +was made up; he replaced the single button he +had just subducted, and threw himself upon the +bed in a state of transition—half chrysalis, half +grub.</p> + +<p>Wearily did Tom Ingoldsby watch the sleeper +by the flickering light of the night-lamp, till the +clock striking one, induced him to increase the +narrow opening which he had left for the purpose +of observation. The motion, slight as it was, +seemed to attract Charles's attention; for he +raised himself suddenly to a sitting posture, +listened for a moment, and then stood upright upon +the floor. Ingoldsby was on the point of discovering +himself, when, the light flashing full upon his +friend's countenance, he perceived that, though +his eyes were open, “their sense was shut”—that +he was yet under the influence of sleep. Seaforth +advanced slowly to the toilet, lit his candle at the +lamp that stood on it, then, going back to the bed's +foot, appeared to search eagerly for something +which he could not find. For a few moments he +seemed restless and uneasy, walking round the +apartment and examining the chairs, till, coming<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span> +fully in front of a large swing-glass that flanked +the dressing-table, he paused as if contemplating +his figure in it. He now returned towards the +bed; put on his slippers, and, with cautious and +stealthy steps, proceeded towards the little arched +doorway that opened on the private staircase.</p> + +<p>As he drew the bolt, Tom Ingoldsby emerged +from his hiding-place; but the sleep-walker heard +him not; he proceeded softly downstairs, followed +at a due distance by his friend; opened the door +which led out upon the gardens; and stood at once +among the thickest of the shrubs, which there +clustered round the base of a corner turret, and +screened the postern from common observation. +At this moment Ingoldsby had nearly spoiled all +by making a false step: the sound attracted Seaforth's +attention—he paused and turned; and, as +the full moon shed her light directly upon his pale +and troubled features, Tom marked, almost with +dismay, the fixed and rayless appearance of his +eyes:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There was no speculation in those orbs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That he did glare withal.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The perfect stillness preserved by his follower +seemed to reassure him; he turned aside, and from +the midst of a thickest laurustinus drew forth a +gardener's spade, shouldering which he proceeded +with great rapidity into the midst of the shrubbery. +Arrived at a certain point where the earth +seemed to have been recently disturbed, he set<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[380]</a></span> +himself heartily to the task of digging, till, having +thrown up several shovelfuls of mould, he stopped, +flung down his tool, and very composedly began +to disencumber himself of his pantaloons.</p> + +<p>Up to this moment Tom had watched him with +a wary eye; he now advanced cautiously, and, as +his friend was busily engaged in disentangling +himself from his garment, made himself master +of the spade. Seaforth, meanwhile, had accomplished +his purpose: he stood for a moment with</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His streamers waving in the wind,<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>occupied in carefully rolling up the small-clothes +into as compact a form as possible, and all heedless +of the breath of heaven, which might certainly be +supposed at such a moment, and in such a plight, +to “visit his frame too roughly.”</p> + +<p>He was in the act of stooping low to deposit the +pantaloons in the grave which he had been digging +for them, when Tom Ingoldsby came close behind +him, and with the flat side of the spade——</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The shock was effectual; never again was +Lieutenant Seaforth known to act the part of a +somnambulist. One by one, his breeches—his +trousers—his pantaloons—his silk-net tights—his +patent cords—his showy greys with the broad +red stripe of the Bombay Fencibles were brought +to light—rescued from the grave in which they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[381]</a></span> +had been buried, like the strata of a Christmas +pie; and after having been well aired by Mrs. +Botherby, became once again effective.</p> + +<p>The family, the ladies especially, laughed; +the Peterses laughed; the Simpkinsons laughed;—Barney +Maguire cried “Botheration!” and +<i>Ma'mselle Pauline</i>, “<i>Mon Dieu!</i>”</p> + +<p>Charles Seaforth, unable to face the quizzing +which awaited him on all sides, started off two +hours earlier than he had proposed:—he soon +returned, however; and having, at his father-in-law's +request, given up the occupation of Rajah-hunting +and shooting Nabobs, led his blushing +bride to the altar.</p> + +<p>Mr. Simpkinson from Bath did not attend the +ceremony, being engaged at the Grand Junction +meeting of <i>Sçavans</i>, then, congregating from all +parts of the known world in the city of Dublin. +His essay, demonstrating that the globe is a great +custard, whipped into coagulation by whirlwinds +and cooked by electricity—a little too much baked +in the Isle of Portland, and a thought underdone +about the Bog of Allen—was highly spoken of, +and narrowly escaped obtaining a Bridgewater +prize.</p> + +<p>Miss Simpkinson and her sister acted as brides-maids +on the occasion; the former wrote an <i>epithalamium</i>, +and the latter cried “Lassy me!” at +the clergyman's wig. Some years have since +rolled on; the union has been crowned with two or +three tidy little off-shoots from the family tree, of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[382]</a></span> +whom Master Neddy is “grandpapa's darling,” +and Mary Anne mamma's particular “Sock.” I +shall only add, that Mr. and Mrs. Seaforth are +living together quite as happily as two good-hearted, +good-tempered bodies, very fond of each +other, can possibly do; and that, since the day of +his marriage, Charles has shown no disposition to +jump out of bed, or ramble out of doors o' nights—though +from his entire devotion to every wish and +whim of his young wife, Tom insinuates that the +fair Caroline does still occasionally take advantage +of it so far as to “slip on the breeches.”</p> +<br /><br /><br /> + + + + +<h3><a name="IN_THE_BARN" id="IN_THE_BARN"></a>IN THE BARN</h3> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[383]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> BURGES JOHNSON</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>From the <i>Century Magazine</i>, June, 1920. By permission of +the Century Company and Burges Johnson.</p></div> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[384]</a></span></p> + +<h2>In the Barn</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[385]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> BURGES JOHNSON</h4> + + +<p>The moment we had entered the barn, I regretted +the rash good nature which prompted me +to consent to the plans of those vivacious young +students. Miss Anstell and Miss Royce and one +or two others, often leaders in student mischief, I +suspect, were the first to enter, and they amused +themselves by hiding in the darkness and greeting +the rest of our party as we entered with sundry +shrieks and moans such as are commonly attributed +to ghosts. My wife and I brought up +the rear, carrying the two farm lanterns. She had +selected the place after an amused consideration +of the question, and I confess I hardly approved +her judgment. But she is native to this part of +the country, and she had assured us that there +were some vague traditions hanging about the +building that made it most suitable for our +purposes.</p> + +<p>It was a musty old place, without even as much +tidiness as is usually found in barns, and there was +a dank smell about it, as though generations of +haymows had decayed there. There were holes +in the floor, and in the dusk of early evening it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[386]</a></span> +necessary for us to pick our way with the greatest +care. It occurred to me then, in a premonitory +sort of way, that if some young woman student +sprained her ankle in this absurd environment, I +should be most embarrassed to explain it. Apparently +it was a hay barn, whose vague dimensions +were lost in shadow. Rafters crossed its +width about twenty feet above our heads, and +here and there a few boards lay across the rafters, +furnishing foothold for anyone who might wish +to operate the ancient pulley that was doubtless +once used for lifting bales. The northern half of +the floor was covered with hay to a depth of two +or three feet. How long it had actually been +there I cannot imagine. It was extremely dusty, +and I feared a recurrence of my old enemy, hay +fever; but it was too late to offer objection on such +grounds, and my wife and I followed our chattering +guides, who disposed themselves here and there +on this ancient bed of hay, and insisted that we +should find places in the center of their circle.</p> + +<p>At my suggestion, the two farm lanterns had +been left at a suitable distance, in fact, quite at +the other side of the barn, and our only light came +from the rapidly falling twilight of outdoors, which +found its way through a little window and sundry +cracks high in the eaves above the rafters.</p> + +<p>There was something about the place, now that +we were settled and no longer occupied with adjustments +of comfort, that subdued our spirits, and it +was with much less hilarity that the young people<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[387]</a></span> +united in demanding a story. I looked across at +my wife, whose face was faintly visible within the +circle. I thought that even in the half-light I +glimpsed the same expression of amused incredulity +which she had worn earlier in the day when I +had yielded to the importunities of a deputation +of my students for this ghost-story party on the +eve of a holiday.</p> + +<p>“There is no reason,” I thought to myself, repeating +the phrases I had used then—“there is no +reason why I should not tell a ghost story. True, +I had never done so before, but the literary attainments +which have enabled me to perfect my recent +treatise upon the 'Disuse of the Comma' are quite +equal to impromptu experimentation in the field +of psychic phenomena.” I was aware that the +young people themselves hardly expected serious +acquiescence, and that, too, stimulated me. I +cleared my throat in a prefatory manner, and +silence fell upon the group. A light breeze had +risen outside, and the timbers of the barn creaked +persistently. From the shadows almost directly +overhead there came a faint clanking. It was +evidently caused by the rusty pulley-wheel which +I had observed there as we entered. An iron hook +at the end of an ancient rope still depended from +it, and swung in the lightly stirring air several +feet above our heads, directly over the center of +our circle.</p> + +<p>Some curious combination of influences—perhaps +the atmosphere of the place, added to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[388]</a></span> +stimulation of the faintly discernible faces around +me, and my impulse to prove my own ability in +this untried field of narration—gave me a sudden +sense of being inspired. I found myself voicing +fancies as though they were facts, and readily +including imaginary names and data which certainly +were not in any way premeditated.</p> + +<p>“This barn stands on the old Creed place,” I +began. “Peter Creed was its last owner, but I +suppose that it has always been and always will +be known as the Turner barn. A few yards away +to the south you will find the crumbling brick-work +and gaping hollows of an old foundation, now +overgrown with weeds that almost conceal a few +charred timbers. That is all that is left of the old +Ashley Turner house.”</p> + +<p>I cleared my throat again, not through any +effort to gain time for my thoughts, but to feel for a +moment the satisfaction arising from the intent +attitude of my audience, particularly my wife, who +had leaned forward and was looking at me with +an expression of startled surprise.</p> + +<p>“Ashley Turner must have had a pretty fine-looking +farm here thirty years or so ago,” I continued, +“when he brought his wife to it. This +barn was new then. But he was a ne'er-do-well, +with nothing to be said in his favor, unless you +admit his fame as a practical joker. Strange how +the ne'er-do-well is often equipped with an extravagant +sense of humor! Turner had a considerable +retinue among the riffraff boys of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[389]</a></span> +neighborhood, who made this barn a noisy rendezvous +and followed his hints in much whimsical +mischief. But he committed most of his practical +jokes when drunk, and in his sober moments he +abused his family and let his wife struggle to +keep up the acres, assisted only by a half-competent +man of all work. Finally he took to roving. +No one knew how he got pocket-money; his wife +could not have given him any. Then someone +discovered that he was going over to Creed's now +and then, and everything was explained.”</p> + +<p>This concise data of mine was evidently not +holding the close attention of my youthful audience. +They annoyed me by frequent pranks and +whisperings. No one could have been more surprised +at my glibness than I myself, except perhaps +my wife, whose attitude of strained attention had +not relaxed. I resumed my story.</p> + +<p>“Peter Creed was a good old-fashioned usurer +of the worst type. He went to church regularly +one day in the week and gouged his neighbors—any +that he could get into his clutches—on the +other six. He must have been lending Turner +drinking money, and everyone knew what the +security must be.</p> + +<p>“At last there came a day when the long-suffering +wife revolted. Turner had come home extra +drunk and in his most maudlin humor. Probably +he attempted some drunken prank upon his over-taxed +helpmate. Old Ike, the hired man, said +that he thought Turner had rigged up some scare<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[390]</a></span> +for her in the barn and that he had never heard +anything so much like straight talking from his +mistress, either before or since, and he was working +in the woodshed at the time, with the door shut. +Shortly after that tirade Ashley Turner disappeared, +and no one saw or heard of him or thought +about him for a couple of years except when the +sight of his tired-looking wife and scrawny children +revived the recollection.</p> + +<p>“At last, on a certain autumn day, old Peter +Creed turned up here at the Turner place. I +imagine Mrs. Turner knew what was in store for +her when his rusty buggy came in sight around the +corner of the barn. At any rate, she made no +protest, and listened meekly to his curt statement +that he held an overdue mortgage, with plenty +of back interest owing, and it was time for her +to go. She went. Neither she nor anyone else +doubted Creed's rights in the matter, and, after +all, I believe it got a better home for her somewhere +in the long run.”</p> + +<p>I paused here in my narration to draw breath +and readjust my leg, which had become cramped. +There was a general readjustment and shifting of +position, with some levity. It was darker now. +The rafters above us were invisible, and the faces +about me looked oddly white against the shadowy +background. After a moment or two of delay +I cleared my throat sharply and continued.</p> + +<p>“Old Creed came thus into possession of this +place, just as he had come to own a dozen others in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[391]</a></span> +the county. He usually lived on one until he was +able to sell it at a good profit over his investment; so +he settled down in the Turner house, and kept old +Ike because he worked for little or nothing. But +he seemed to have a hard time finding a purchaser.</p> + +<p>“It must have been about a year later when an +unexpected thing happened. Creed had come out +here to the barn to lock up—he always did that +himself—when he noticed something unusual +about the haymow—this haymow—which stood +then about six feet above the barn floor. He +looked closer through the dusk, and saw a pair of +boots; went nearer, and found that they were +fitted to a pair of human legs whose owner was +sound asleep in his hay. Creed picked up a short +stick and beat on one boot.</p> + +<p>“'Get out of here,' he said, 'or I'll have you +locked up.' The sleeper woke in slow fashion, +sat up, grinned, and said:</p> + +<p>“'Hello, Peter Creed.' It was Ashley Turner, +beyond question. Creed stepped back a pace or +two and seemed at a loss for words. An object +slipped from Turner's pocket as he moved, slid +along the hay, and fell to the barn floor. It was +a half-filled whisky-flask.</p> + +<p>“No one knows full details of the conversation +that ensued, of course. Such little as I am able +to tell you of what was said and done comes +through old Ike, who watched from a safe distance +outside the barn, ready to act at a moment's notice +as best suited his own safety and welfare. Of one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[392]</a></span> +thing Ike was certain—Creed lacked his usual +browbeating manner. He was apparently struggling +to assume an unwonted friendliness. Turner +was very drunk, but triumphant, and his satisfaction +over what he must have felt was the practical +joke of his life seemed to make him friendly.</p> + +<p>“'I kept 'em all right,' he said again and again. +'I've got the proof. I wasn't working for nothing +all these months. I ain't fool enough yet to +throw away papers even when I'm drunk.'</p> + +<p>“To the watchful Ike's astonishment, Creed +evidently tried to persuade him to come into the +house for something to eat. Turner slid off the +haymow, found his steps too unsteady, laughed +foolishly, and suggested that Creed bring some food +to him there. 'Guess I've got a right to sleep in +the barn or house, whichever I want,' he said, +leering into Creed's face. The old usurer stood +there for a few minutes eying Turner thoughtfully. +Then he actually gave him a shoulder back onto +the hay, said something about finding a snack of +supper, and started out of the barn. In the doorway +he turned, looked back, then walked over +to the edge of the mow and groped on the floor +until he found the whisky-flask, picked it up, tossed +it into Turner's lap, and stumbled out of the barn +again.”</p> + +<p>I was becoming interested in my own story and +somewhat pleased with the fluency of it, but my +audience annoyed me. There was intermittent +whispering, with some laughter, and I inferred<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[393]</a></span> +that one or another would occasionally stimulate +this inattention by tickling a companion with a +straw. Miss Anstell, who is so frivolous by nature +that I sometimes question her right to a place +in my classroom, I even suspected of irritating +the back of my own neck in the same fashion. +Naturally, I ignored it.</p> + +<p>“Peter Creed,” I repeated, “went into the +house. Ike hung around the barn, waiting. He +was frankly curious. In a few minutes his employer +reappeared, carrying a plate heaped with +an assortment of scraps. Ike peered and listened +then without compunction.</p> + +<p>“'It's the best I've got,' he heard Creed say +grudgingly. Turner's tones were now more drunkenly +belligerent.</p> + +<p>“'It had better be,' he said loudly. 'And I'll +take the best bed after to-night.' Evidently he +was eating and muttering between mouthfuls. +'You might have brought me another bottle.'</p> + +<p>“'I did,' said Creed, to the listening Ike's great +astonishment. Turner laughed immoderately.</p> + +<p>“A long silence followed. Turner was either +eating or drinking. Then he spoke again, more +thickly and drowsily.</p> + +<p>“'Damn unpleasant that rope. Why don't +you haul it up out of my way?'</p> + +<p>“'It don't hurt you any,' said Creed.</p> + +<p>“'Don't you wish it would?' said Turner, with +drunken shrewdness. 'But I don't like it. Haul +it away.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[394]</a></span></p> + +<p>“'I will,' said Creed.</p> + +<p>“There was a longer silence, and then there +came an intermittent rasping sound. A moment +later Creed came suddenly from the barn. Ike +fumbled with a large rake, and made as though +to hang it on its accustomed peg near the barn +door. Creed eyed him sharply. 'Get along to +bed,' he ordered, and Ike obeyed.</p> + +<p>“That was a Saturday night. On Sunday +morning Ike went to the barn later than usual and +hesitatingly. Even then he was first to enter. +He found the drunkard's body hanging here over +the mow, just about where we are sitting, stark +and cold. It was a gruesome end to a miserable +home-coming.”</p> + +<p>My audience was quiet enough now. Miss +Anstell and one or two others giggled loudly, but +it was obviously forced, and found no further +echo. The breeze which had sprung up some time +before was producing strange creakings and raspings +in the old timbers, and the pulley-wheel far +above us clanked with a dismal repetitious sound, +like the tolling of a cracked bell.</p> + +<p>I waited a moment, well satisfied with the effect, +and then continued.</p> + +<p>“The coroner's jury found it suicide, though +some shook their heads meaningly. Turner had +apparently sobered up enough to stand, and, +making a simple loop around his neck by catching +the rope through its own hook, had then slid off +the mow. The rope which went over the pulley-wheel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[395]</a></span> +up there in the roof ran out through a +window under the eaves, and was made fast near +the barn door outside, where anyone could haul +on it. Creed testified the knot was one he had +tied many days before. Ike was a timorous old +man, with a wholesome fear of his employer, and +he supported the testimony and made no reference +to his eavesdropping of the previous evening, +though he heard Creed swear before the jury that +he did not recognize the tramp he had fed and +lodged. There were no papers in Turner's pockets; +only a few coins, and a marked pocket-knife that +gave the first clue to his identity.</p> + +<p>“A few of the neighbors said that it was a fitting +end, and that the verdict was a just one. Nevertheless, +whisperings began and increased. People +avoided Creed and the neighborhood. Rumors +grew that the barn was haunted. Passers-by on +the road after dark said they heard the old pulley-wheel +clanking when no breeze stirred, much as +you hear it now. Some claim to have heard +maudlin laughter. Possible purchasers were +frightened away, and Creed grew more and more +solitary and misanthropic. Old Ike hung on, +Heaven knows why, though I suppose Creed paid +him some sort of wage.</p> + +<p>“Rumors grew. Folks said that neither Ike +nor Creed entered this barn after a time, and no +hay was put in, though Creed would not have been +Creed if he had not sold off the bulk of what +he had, ghost or no ghost. I can imagine him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[396]</a></span> +slowly forking it out alone, daytimes, and the +amount of hay still here proves that even he +finally lost courage.”</p> + +<p>I paused a moment, but though there was much +uneasy stirring about, and the dismal clanking +directly above us was incessant, no one of my +audience spoke. It was wholly dark now, and I +think all had drawn closer together.</p> + +<p>“About ten years ago people began calling +Creed crazy.” Here I was forced to interrupt my +own story. “I shall have to ask you, Miss +Anstell, to stop annoying me. I have been aware +for some moments that you are brushing my head +with a straw, but I have ignored it for the sake +of the others.” Out of the darkness came Miss +Anstell's voice, protesting earnestly, and I realized +from the direction of the sound that in the general +readjustment she must have settled down in the +very center of our circle, and could not be the one +at fault. One of the others was childish enough +to simulate a mocking burst of raucous laughter, +but I chose to ignore it.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said I, graciously; “shall I go on?”</p> + +<p>“Go on,” echoed a subdued chorus.</p> + +<p>“It was the night of the twenty-eighth of May, +ten years ago——”</p> + +<p>“Not the twenty-eighth,” broke in my wife's +voice, sharply; “that is to-day's date.” There was +a note in her voice that I hardly recognized, but it +indicated that she was in some way affected by my +narration, and I felt a distinct sense of triumph.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[397]</a></span></p> + +<p>“It was the night of May twenty-eighth,” I +repeated firmly.</p> + +<p>“Are you making up this story?” my wife's +voice continued, still with the same odd tone.</p> + +<p>“I am, my dear, and you are interrupting it.”</p> + +<p>“But an Ashley Turner and later a Peter Creed +owned this place,” she persisted almost in a +whisper, “and I am sure you never heard of them.”</p> + +<p>I confess that I might wisely have broken off +my story then and called for a light. There had +been an hysterical note in my wife's voice, and I +was startled at her words, for I had no conscious +recollection of either name; yet I felt a resultant +exhilaration. Our lanterns had grown strangely +dim, though I was certain both had been recently +trimmed and filled; and from their far corner of +the barn they threw no light whatever into our +circle. I faced an utter blackness.</p> + +<p>“On that night,” said I, “old Ike was wakened +by sounds as of someone fumbling to unbar and +open the housedoor. It was an unwonted hour, +and he peered from the window of his little room. +By the dim starlight—it was just before dawn—he +could see all of the open yard and roadway before +the house, with the great barn looming like a +black and sinister shadow as its farther barrier. +Crossing this space, he saw the figure of Peter +Creed, grotesquely stooped and old in the obscuring +gloom, moving slowly, almost gropingly, and +yet directly, as though impelled, toward the barn's +overwhelming shadow. Slowly he unbarred the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[398]</a></span> +great door, swung it open, and entered the blacker +shadows it concealed. The door closed after him.</p> + +<p>“Ike in his secure post of observation did not +stir. He could not. Even to his crude imagining +there was something utterly horrible in the thought +of Creed alone at that hour in just such black +darkness as this, with the great timbered chamber +haunted at least by its dread memories. He could +only wait, tense and fearful of he knew not what.</p> + +<p>“A shriek that pierced the silence relaxed his tension, +bringing almost a sense of relief, so definite +had been his expectancy. But it was a burst of +shrill laughter, ribald, uncanny, undeniable, accompanying +the shriek that gave him power of +motion. He ran half naked a quarter of a mile to +the nearest neighbor's and told his story.”</p> + +<br /> + +<p>“They found Creed hanging, the rope hooked +simply around his neck. It was a silent jury that +filed from the barn that morning after viewing the +body. 'Suicide,' said they, after Ike, shivering +and stammering, had testified, harking back to +the untold evidence of that other morning years +before. Yes, Creed was dead, with a terrible +look on his wizen face, and the dusty old rope ran +through its pulley-wheel and was fast to a beam +high above.</p> + +<p>“'He must of climbed to the beam, made the +rope fast, and jumped,' said the foreman, solemnly. +'He must of, he must of,' repeated the man, parrot-like, +while the sweat stood out on his forehead,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[399]</a></span> +'because there wasn't no other way; but as God +is my judge, the knot in the rope and the dust on +the beam ain't been disturbed for years.'”</p> + +<p>At this dramatic climax there was an audible +sigh from my audience. I sat quietly for a time, +content to allow the silence and the atmosphere +of the place, which actually seemed surcharged +with influences not of my creation, to add +to the effect my story had caused. There was +scarcely a movement in our circle; of that I felt +sure. And yet once more, out of the almost +tangible darkness above me, something seemed +to reach down and brush against my head. A +slight motion of air, sufficient to disturb my rather +scanty locks, was additional proof that I was +the butt of some prank that had just missed its +objective. Then, with a fearful suddenness, close +to my ear burst a shrill discord of laughter, so uncanny +and so unlike the usual sound of student +merriment that I started up, half wondering if I +had heard it. Almost immediately after it the +heavy darkness was torn again by a shriek so +terrible in its intensity as completely to differentiate +it from the other cries which followed.</p> + +<p>“Bring a light!” cried a voice that I recognized +as that of my wife, though strangely distorted by +emotion. There was a great confusion. Young +women struggled from their places and impeded +one another in the darkness; but finally, and it +seemed an unbearable delay, someone brought +a single lantern.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[400]</a></span></p> + +<p>Its frail light revealed Miss Anstell half upright +from her place in the center of our circle, my wife's +arms sustaining her weight. Her face, as well as +I could see it, seemed darkened and distorted, +and when we forced her clutching hands away +from her bared throat we could see, even in that +light, the marks of an angry, throttling scar +entirely encircling it. Just above her head the +old pulley-rope swayed menacingly in the faint +breeze.</p> + +<p>My recollection is even now confused as to the +following moments and our stumbling escape from +that gruesome spot. Miss Anstell is now at her +home, recovering from what her physician calls +mental shock. My wife will not speak of it. The +questions I would ask her are checked on my lips +by the look of utter terror in her eyes. As I have +confessed to you, my own philosophy is hard put +to it to withstand not so much the community +attitude toward what they are pleased to call my +taste in practical joking, but to assemble and +adjust the facts of my experience.</p> +<br /><br /><br /> + + + + +<h3><a name="A_SHADY_PLOT" id="A_SHADY_PLOT"></a>A SHADY PLOT</h3> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[401]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> ELSIE BROWN</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>This story was submitted as a class exercise in one of my +short-story classes at Columbia University. At my request the +author, Elsie Brown, contributed it to this volume.</p></div> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[402]</a></span></p> + +<h2>A Shady Plot</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[403]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> ELSIE BROWN</h4> + + +<p>So I sat down to write a ghost story.</p> + +<p>Jenkins was responsible.</p> + +<p>“Hallock,” he had said to me, “give us another +on the supernatural this time. Something to give +'em the horrors; that's what the public wants, +and your ghosts are live propositions.”</p> + +<p>Well, I was in no position to contradict Jenkins, +for, as yet, his magazine had been the only one to +print my stuff. So I had said, “Precisely!” in +the deepest voice I was capable of, and had gone +out.</p> + +<p>I hadn't the shade of an idea, but at the time +that didn't worry me in the least. You see, I +had often been like that before and in the end +things had always come my way—I didn't in the +least know how or why. It had all been rather +mysterious. You understand I didn't specialize +in ghost stories, but more or less they seemed to +specialize in me. A ghost story had been the first +fiction I had written. Curious how that idea for +a plot had come to me out of nowhere after I had +chased inspiration in vain for months! Even<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[404]</a></span> +now whenever Jenkins wanted a ghost, he called +on me. And I had never found it healthy to contradict +Jenkins. Jenkins always seemed to have +an uncanny knowledge as to when the landlord +or the grocer were pestering me, and he dunned +me for a ghost. And somehow I'd always been +able to dig one up for him, so I'd begun to get a +bit cocky as to my ability.</p> + +<p>So I went home and sat down before my desk +and sucked at the end of my pencil and waited, +but nothing happened. Pretty soon my mind +began to wander off on other things, decidedly +unghostly and material things, such as my wife's +shopping and how on earth I was going to cure her +of her alarming tendency to take every new fad +that came along and work it to death. But I +realized <i>that</i> would never get me any place, so I +went back to staring at the ceiling.</p> + +<p>“This writing business <i>is</i> delightful, isn't it?” +I said sarcastically at last, out loud, too. You +see, I had reached the stage of imbecility when I +was talking to myself.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said a voice at the other end of the +room, “I should say it is!”</p> + +<p>I admit I jumped. Then I looked around.</p> + +<p>It was twilight by this time and I had forgotten +to turn on the lamp. The other end of the room +was full of shadows and furniture. I sat staring +at it and presently noticed something just taking +shape. It was exactly like watching one of these +moving picture cartoons being put together. First<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[405]</a></span> +an arm came out, then a bit of sleeve of a stiff +white shirtwaist, then a leg and a plaid skirt, until +at last there she was complete,—whoever she was.</p> + +<p>She was long and angular, with enormous fishy +eyes behind big bone-rimmed spectacles, and her +hair in a tight wad at the back of her head (yes, I +seemed able to see right through her head) and a +jaw—well, it looked so solid that for the moment I +began to doubt my very own senses and believe +she was real after all.</p> + +<p>She came over and stood in front of me and +glared—yes, positively glared down at me, although +(to my knowledge) I had never laid eyes +on the woman before, to say nothing of giving +her cause to look at me like that.</p> + +<p>I sat still, feeling pretty helpless I can tell you, +and at last she barked:</p> + +<p>“What are you gaping at?”</p> + +<p>I swallowed, though I hadn't been chewing +anything.</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” I said. “Absolutely nothing. My +dear lady, I was merely waiting for you to tell me +why you had come. And excuse me, but do you +always come in sections like this? I should think +your parts might get mixed up sometimes.”</p> + +<p>“Didn't you send for me?” she crisped.</p> + +<p>Imagine how I felt at that!</p> + +<p>“Why, no. I—I don't seem to remember——”</p> + +<p>“Look here. Haven't you been calling on +heaven and earth all afternoon to help you write +a story?”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[406]</a></span></p> + +<p>I nodded, and then a possible explanation occurred +to me and my spine got cold. Suppose +this was the ghost of a stenographer applying for a +job! I had had an advertisement in the paper +recently. I opened my mouth to explain that the +position was filled, and permanently so, but she +stopped me.</p> + +<p>“And when I got back to the office from my +last case and was ready for you, didn't you switch +off to something else and sit there driveling so I +couldn't attract your attention until just now?”</p> + +<p>“I—I'm very sorry, really.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you needn't be, because I just came to +tell you to stop bothering us for assistance; you +ain't going to get it. We're going on Strike!”</p> + +<p>“What!”</p> + +<p>“You don't have to yell at me.”</p> + +<p>“I—I didn't mean to yell,” I said humbly. +“But I'm afraid I didn't quite understand you. +You said you were——”</p> + +<p>“Going on strike. Don't you know what a +strike is? Not another plot do you get from us!”</p> + +<p>I stared at her and wet my lips.</p> + +<p>“Is—is that where they've been coming from?”</p> + +<p>“Of course. Where else?”</p> + +<p>“But my ghosts aren't a bit like you——”</p> + +<p>“If they were people wouldn't believe in them.” +She draped herself on the top of my desk among +the pens and ink bottles and leaned towards me. +“In the other life <i>I</i> used to write.”</p> + +<p>“You did!”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[407]</a></span></p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>“But that has nothing to do with my present +form. It might have, but I gave it up at last for +that very reason, and went to work as a reader on +a magazine.” She sighed, and rubbed the end of +her long eagle nose with a reminiscent finger. +“Those were terrible days; the memory of them +made me mistake purgatory for paradise, and at +last when I attained my present state of being, I +made up my mind that something should be done. +I found others who had suffered similarly, and +between us we organized 'The Writer's Inspiration +Bureau.' We scout around until we find a writer +without ideas and with a mind soft enough to accept +impression. The case is brought to the attention +of the main office, and one of us assigned to it. +When that case is finished we bring in a report.”</p> + +<p>“But I never saw you before——”</p> + +<p>“And you wouldn't have this time if I hadn't +come to announce the strike. Many a time I've +leaned on your shoulder when you've thought <i>you</i> +were thinking hard—” I groaned, and clutched +my hair. The very idea of that horrible scarecrow +so much as touching me! and wouldn't +my wife be shocked! I shivered. “But,” she continued, +“that's at an end. We've been called +out of our beds a little too often in recent years, +and now we're through.”</p> + +<p>“But my dear madam, I assure you I have had +nothing to do with that. I hope I'm properly +grateful and all that, you see.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[408]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh, it isn't you,” she explained patronizingly. +“It's those Ouija board fanatics. There was a +time when we had nothing much to occupy us +and used to haunt a little on the side, purely +for amusement, but not any more. We've had +to give up haunting almost entirely. We sit at +a desk and answer questions now. And such +questions!”</p> + +<p>She shook her head hopelessly, and taking off her +glasses wiped them, and put them back on her +nose again.</p> + +<p>“But what have I got to do with this?”</p> + +<p>She gave me a pitying look and rose.</p> + +<p>“You're to exert your influence. Get all your +friends and acquaintances to stop using the Ouija +board, and then we'll start helping you to write.”</p> + +<p>“But——”</p> + +<p>There was a footstep outside my door.</p> + +<p>“John! Oh, John!” called the voice of my wife.</p> + +<p>I waved my arms at the ghost with something +of the motion of a beginner when learning to swim.</p> + +<p>“Madam, I must ask you to leave, and at once. +Consider the impression if you were seen here——”</p> + +<p>The ghost nodded, and began, very sensibly, +I thought, to demobilize and evaporate. First the +brogans on her feet grew misty until I could see +the floor through them, then the affection spread +to her knees and gradually extended upward. By +this time my wife was opening the door.</p> + +<p>“Don't forget the strike,” she repeated, while +her lower jaw began to disintegrate, and as my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[409]</a></span> +Lavinia crossed the room to me the last vestige of +her ear faded into space.</p> + +<p>“John, why in the world are you sitting in the +dark?”</p> + +<p>“Just—thinking, my dear.”</p> + +<p>“Thinking, rubbish! You were talking out +loud.”</p> + +<p>I remained silent while she lit the lamps, thankful +that her back was turned to me. When I am +nervous or excited there is a muscle in my face +that starts to twitch, and this pulls up one corner +of my mouth and gives the appearance of an +idiotic grin. So far I had managed to conceal +this affliction from Lavinia.</p> + +<p>“You know I bought the loveliest thing this +afternoon. Everybody's wild over them!”</p> + +<p>I remembered her craze for taking up new fads +and a premonitory chill crept up the back of my neck.</p> + +<p>“It—it isn't——” I began and stopped. I simply +couldn't ask; the possibility was too horrible.</p> + +<p>“You'd never guess in the world. It's the +duckiest, darlingest Ouija board, and so cheap! +I got it at a bargain sale. Why, what's the +matter, John?”</p> + +<p>I felt things slipping.</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” I said, and looked around for the +ghost. Suppose she had lingered, and upon hearing +what my wife had said should suddenly appear——Like +all sensitive women, Lavinia was +subject to hysterics.</p> + +<p>“But you looked so funny——”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[410]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I—I always do when I'm interested,” I gulped. +“But don't you think that was a foolish thing to +buy?”</p> + +<p>“Foolish! Oh, John! Foolish! And after me +getting it for you!”</p> + +<p>“For me! What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“To help you write your stories. Why, for +instance, suppose you wanted to write an historical +novel. You wouldn't have to wear your eyes +out over those musty old books in the public +library. All you'd have to do would be to get +out your Ouija and talk to Napoleon, or William +the Conqueror, or Helen of Troy—well, maybe +not Helen—anyhow you'd have all the local color +you'd need, and without a speck of trouble. And +think how easy writing your short stories will +be now.”</p> + +<p>“But Lavinia, you surely don't believe in +Ouija boards.”</p> + +<p>“I don't know, John—they are awfully +thrilling.”</p> + +<p>She had seated herself on the arm of my chair +and was looking dreamily across the room. I +started and turned around. There was nothing +there, and I sank back with relief. So far so good.</p> + +<p>“Oh, certainly, they're thrilling all right. +That's just it, they're a darn sight too thrilling. +They're positively devilish. Now, Lavinia, you +have plenty of sense, and I want you to get rid of +that thing just as soon as you can. Take it back +and get something else.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[411]</a></span></p> + +<p>My wife crossed her knees and stared at me +through narrowed lids.</p> + +<p>“John Hallock,” she said distinctly. “I don't +propose to do anything of the kind. In the first +place they won't exchange things bought at a +bargain sale, and in the second, if you aren't +interested in the other world <i>I</i> am. So there!” +and she slid down and walked from the room before +I could think of a single thing to say. She walked +very huffily.</p> + +<p>Well, it was like that all the rest of the evening. +Just as soon as I mentioned Ouija boards I felt +things begin to cloud up; so I decided to let it go +for the present, in the hope that she might be more +reasonable later.</p> + +<p>After supper I had another try at the writing, +but as my mind continued a perfect blank I gave +it up and went off to bed.</p> + +<p>The next day was Saturday, and it being near +the end of the month and a particularly busy day, +I left home early without seeing Lavinia. Understand, +I haven't quite reached the point where I +can give my whole time to writing, and being +bookkeeper for a lumber company does help with +the grocery bills and pay for Lavinia's fancy shopping. +Friday had been a half holiday, and of +course when I got back the work was piled up +pretty high; so high, in fact, that ghosts and stories +and everything else vanished in a perfect tangle of +figures.</p> + +<p>When I got off the street car that evening my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[412]</a></span> +mind was still churning. I remember now that I +noticed, even from the corner, how brightly the +house was illuminated, but at the time that didn't +mean anything to me. I recall as I went up the +steps and opened the door I murmured:</p> + +<p>“Nine times nine is eighty-one!”</p> + +<p>And then Gladolia met me in the hall.</p> + +<p>“Misto Hallock, de Missus sho t'inks you's lost! +She say she done 'phone you dis mawnin' to be +home early, but fo' de lawd's sake not to stop to +argify now, but get ready fo' de company an' come +on down.”</p> + +<p>Some memory of a message given me by one of the +clerks filtered back through my brain, but I had +been hunting three lost receipts at the time, and +had completely forgotten it.</p> + +<p>“Company?” I said stupidly. “What +company?”</p> + +<p>“De Missus's Ouija boahrd pahrty,” said +Gladolia, and rolling her eyes she disappeared in +the direction of the kitchen.</p> + +<p>I must have gone upstairs and dressed and come +down again, for I presently found myself standing +in the dimly lighted lower hall wearing my second +best suit and a fresh shirt and collar. But I have +no recollections of the process.</p> + +<p>There was a great chattering coming from our +little parlor and I went over to the half-opened +door and peered through.</p> + +<p>The room was full of women—most of them +elderly—whom I recognized as belonging to my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[413]</a></span> +wife's Book Club. They were sitting in couples, +and between each couple was a Ouija board! The +mournful squeak of the legs of the moving triangular +things on which they rested their fingers +filled the air and mixed in with the conversation. +I looked around for the ghost with my heart sunk +down to zero. What if Lavinia should see her +and go mad before my eyes! And then my wife +came and tapped me on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>“John,” she said in her sweetest voice, and I +noticed that her cheeks were very pink and her +eyes very bright. My wife is never so pretty as +when she's doing something she knows I disapprove +of, “John, dear I know you'll help us out. +Mrs. William Augustus Wainright 'phoned at the +last moment to say that she couldn't possibly +come, and that leaves poor Laura Hinkle without +a partner. Now, John, I know <i>some</i> people can +work a Ouija by themselves, but Laura can't, and +she'll just have a horrible time unless you——”</p> + +<p>“Me!” I gasped. “Me! I won't——” but even +as I spoke she had taken my arm, and the next +thing I knew I was sitting with the thing on my +knees and Miss Laura Hinkle opposite, grinning +in my face like a flirtatious crocodile.</p> + +<p>“I—I won't——” I began.</p> + +<p>“Now, Mr. Hallock, don't you be shy.” Miss +Laura Hinkle leaned forward and shook a bony +finger almost under my chin.</p> + +<p>“I—I'm not! Only I say I won't——!”</p> + +<p>“No, it's very easy, really. You just put the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[414]</a></span> +tips of your fingers right here beside the tips of my +fingers——”</p> + +<p>And the first thing I knew she had taken my +hands and was coyly holding them in the position +desired. She released them presently, and the +little board began to slide around in an aimless +sort of way. There seemed to be some force tugging +it about. I looked at my partner, first with +suspicion, and then with a vast relief. If she was +doing it, then all that talk about spirits——Oh, +I did hope Miss Laura Hinkle was cheating with +that board!</p> + +<p>“Ouija, dear, won't you tell us something?” +she cooed, and on the instant the thing seemed to +take life.</p> + +<p>It rushed to the upper left hand corner of the +board and hovered with its front leg on the word +“Yes.” Then it began to fly around so fast that +I gave up any attempt to follow it. My companion +was bending forward and had started to +spell out loud:</p> + +<p>“'T-r-a-i-t-o-r.' Traitor! Why, what does she +mean?”</p> + +<p>“I don't know,” I said desperately. My collar +felt very tight.</p> + +<p>“But she must mean something. Ouija, dear, +won't you explain yourself more fully?”</p> + +<p>“'A-s-k-h-i-m!' Ask him. Ask who, Ouija?”</p> + +<p>“I—I'm going.” I choked and tried to get +up but my fingers seemed stuck to that dreadful +board and I dropped back again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[415]</a></span></p> + +<p>Apparently Miss Hinkle had not heard my +protest. The thing was going around faster than +ever and she was reading the message silently, +with her brow corrugated, and the light of the +huntress in her pale blue eyes.</p> + +<p>“Why, she says it's you, Mr. Hallock. What +<i>does</i> she mean? Ouija, won't you tell us who is +talking?”</p> + +<p>I groaned, but that inexorable board continued +to spell. I always did hate a spelling match! +Miss Hinkle was again following it aloud:</p> + +<p>“'H-e-l-e-n.' Helen!” She raised her voice +until it could be heard at the other end of the room. +“Lavinia, dear, do you know anyone by the name +of Helen?”</p> + +<p>“By the name of——? I can't hear you.” And +my wife made her way over to us between the +Book Club's chairs.</p> + +<p>“You know the funniest thing has happened,” +she whispered excitedly. “Someone had been +trying to communicate with John through Mrs. +Hunt's and Mrs. Sprinkle's Ouija! Someone by +the name of Helen——”</p> + +<p>“Why, <i>isn't</i> that curious!”</p> + +<p>“What is?”</p> + +<p>Miss Hinkle simpered.</p> + +<p>“Someone giving the name of Helen has just +been calling for your husband here.”</p> + +<p>“But we don't know anyone by the name of +Helen——”</p> + +<p>Lavinia stopped and began to look at me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[416]</a></span> +through narrowed lids much as she had done in +the library the evening before.</p> + +<p>And then from different parts of the room other +manipulators began to report. Every plagued +one of those five Ouija boards was calling me by +name! I felt my ears grow crimson, purple, +maroon. My wife was looking at me as though I +were some peculiar insect. The squeak of Ouija +boards and the murmur of conversation rose louder +and louder, and then I felt my face twitch in the +spasm of that idiotic grin. I tried to straighten +my wretched features into their usual semblance +of humanity, I tried and——</p> + +<p>“Doesn't he look sly!” said Miss Hinkle. And +then I got up and fled from the room.</p> + +<p>I do not know how that party ended. I do not +want to know. I went straight upstairs, and undressed +and crawled into bed, and lay there in the +burning dark while the last guest gurgled in the +hall below about the wonderful evening she had +spent. I lay there while the front door shut +after her, and Lavinia's steps came up the +stairs and—passed the door to the guest room +beyond. And then after a couple of centuries +elapsed the clock struck three and I dozed off to +sleep.</p> + +<p>At the breakfast table the next morning there +was no sign of my wife. I concluded she was +sleeping late, but Gladolia, upon being questioned, +only shook her head, muttered something, and +turned the whites of her eyes up to the ceiling. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[417]</a></span> +was glad when the meal was over and hurried to +the library for another try at that story.</p> + +<p>I had hardly seated myself at the desk when +there came a tap at the door and a white slip of +paper slid under it. I unfolded it and read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="noindent">“<span class="smcap">Dear John,</span></p> + +<p>“I am going back to my grandmother. My +lawyer will communicate with you later.”</p></div> + +<p>“Oh,” I cried. “Oh, I wish I was dead!”</p> + +<p>And:</p> + +<p>“That's exactly what you ought to be!” said +that horrible voice from the other end of the room.</p> + +<p>I sat up abruptly—I had sunk into a chair under +the blow of the letter—then I dropped back again +and my hair rose in a thick prickle on the top of +my head. Coming majestically across the floor +towards me was a highly polished pair of thick +laced shoes. I stared at them in a sort of dreadful +fascination, and then something about their gait +attracted my attention and I recognized them.</p> + +<p>“See here,” I said sternly. “What do you +mean by appearing here like this?”</p> + +<p>“<i>I</i> can't help it,” said the voice, which seemed +to come from a point about five and a half feet +above the shoes. I raised my eyes and presently +distinguished her round protruding mouth.</p> + +<p>“Why can't you? A nice way to act, to walk in +in sections——”</p> + +<p>“If you'll give me time,” said the mouth in an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[418]</a></span> +exasperated voice, “I assure you the rest of me will +presently arrive.”</p> + +<p>“But what's the matter with you? You never +acted this way before.”</p> + +<p>She seemed stung to make a violent effort, for a +portion of a fishy eye and the end of her nose +popped into view with a suddenness that made +me jump.</p> + +<p>“It's all your fault.” She glared at me, while +part of her hair and her plaid skirt began slowly +to take form.</p> + +<p>“My fault!”</p> + +<p>“Of course. How can you keep a lady up +working all night and then expect her to retain all +her faculties the next day? I'm just too tired to +materialize.”</p> + +<p>“Then why did you bother?”</p> + +<p>“Because I was sent to ask when your wife is +going to get rid of that Ouija board.”</p> + +<p>“How should I know! I wish to heaven I'd +never seen you!” I cried. “Look what you've +done! You've lost me my wife, you've lost me +my home and happiness, you've——you've——”</p> + +<p>“Misto Hallock,” came from the hall outside, +“Misto Hallock, I's gwine t' quit. I don't like +no hoodoos.” And the steps retreated.</p> + +<p>“You've——you've lost me my cook——”</p> + +<p>“I didn't come here to be abused,” said the ghost +coldly. “I—I——”</p> + +<p>And then the door opened and Lavinia entered. +She wore the brown hat and coat she usually<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[419]</a></span> +travels in and carried a suitcase which she set +down on the floor.</p> + +<p>That suitcase had an air of solid finality about +it, and its lock leered at me brassily.</p> + +<p>I leaped from my chair with unaccustomed +agility and sprang in front of my wife. I must +conceal that awful phantom from her, at any risk!</p> + +<p>She did not look at me, or—thank heaven!—behind +me, but fixed her injured gaze upon the +waste-basket, as if to wrest dark secrets from it.</p> + +<p>“I have come to tell you that I am leaving,” +she staccatoed.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, yes!” I agreed, flapping my arms +about to attract attention from the corner. +“That's fine—great!”</p> + +<p>“So you want me to go, do you?” she demanded.</p> + +<p>“Sure, yes—right away! Change of air will +do you good. I'll join you presently!” If only +she would go till Helen could <i>de</i>-part! I'd have +the devil of a time explaining afterward, of course, +but anything would be better than to have Lavinia +see a ghost. Why, that sensitive little woman +couldn't bear to have a mouse say boo at her—and +what would she say to a ghost in her own living-room?</p> + +<p>Lavinia cast a cold eye upon me. “You are +acting very queerly,” she sniffed. “You are concealing +something from me.”</p> + +<p>Just then the door opened and Gladolia called, +“Mis' Hallock! Mis' Hallock! I've come to tell +you I'se done lef' dis place.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[420]</a></span></p> + +<p>My wife turned her head a moment. “But +why, Gladolia?”</p> + +<p>“I ain't stayin' round no place 'long wid dem +Ouija board contraptions. I'se skeered of hoodoos. +I's done gone, I is.”</p> + +<p>“Is that all you've got to complain about?” +Lavinia inquired.</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma'am.”</p> + +<p>“All right, then. Go back to the kitchen. You +can use the board for kindling wood.”</p> + +<p>“Who? Me touch dat t'ing? No, ma'am, +not dis nigger!”</p> + +<p>“I'll be the coon to burn it,” I shouted. “I'll +be glad to burn it.”</p> + +<p>Gladolia's heavy steps moved off kitchenward.</p> + +<p>Then my Lavinia turned waspishly to me again. +“John, there's not a bit of use trying to deceive me. +What is it you are trying to conceal from me?”</p> + +<p>“Who? Me? Oh, no,” I lied elaborately, +looking around to see if that dratted ghost was +concealed enough. She was so big, and I'm rather +a smallish man. But that was a bad move on my +part.</p> + +<p>“John,” Lavinia demanded like a ward boss, +“you are hiding some<i>body</i> in here! Who is it?”</p> + +<p>I only waved denial and gurgled in my throat. +She went on, “It's bad enough to have you flirt +over the Ouija board with that hussy——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, the affair was quite above-board, I assure +you, my love!” I cried, leaping lithely about to +keep her from focusing her gaze behind me.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[421]</a></span></p> + +<p>She thrust me back with sudden muscle. “<i>I +will</i> see who's behind you! Where is that Helen?”</p> + +<p>“Me? I'm Helen,” came from the ghost.</p> + +<p>Lavinia looked at that apparition, that owl-eyed +phantom, in plaid skirt and stiff shirtwaist, +with hair skewed back and no powder on her nose. +I threw a protecting husbandly arm about her to +catch her when she should faint. But she didn't +swoon. A broad, satisfied smile spread over her +face.</p> + +<p>“I thought you were Helen of Troy,” she +murmured.</p> + +<p>“I used to be Helen of Troy, New York,” said +the ghost. “And now I'll be moving along, if +you'll excuse me. See you later.”</p> + +<p>With that she telescoped briskly, till we saw +only a hand waving farewell.</p> + +<p>My Lavinia fell forgivingly into my arms. I +kissed her once or twice fervently, and then I +shoved her aside, for I felt a sudden strong desire +to write. The sheets of paper on my desk spread +invitingly before me.</p> + +<p>“I've got the bulliest plot for a ghost story!” +I cried.</p> +<br /><br /><br /> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422"></a></span></p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[423]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_LADY_AND_THE_GHOST" id="THE_LADY_AND_THE_GHOST"></a>THE LADY AND THE GHOST</h2> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> ROSE CECIL O'NEILL</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>From the <i>Cosmopolitan Magazine</i>. By permission of John +Brisben Walker and Rose O'Neill.</p></div> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[424]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>The Lady and the Ghost</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[425]</a></span></p> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> ROSE CECIL O'NEILL</h4> + + +<p>It was some moments before the Lady became +rationally convinced that there was something +occurring in the corner of the room, and then the +actual nature of the thing was still far from clear.</p> + +<p>“To put it as mildly as possible,” she murmured, +“the thing verges upon the uncanny”; and, leaning +forward upon her silken knees, she attended +upon the phenomenon.</p> + +<p>At first it had seemed like some faint and unexplained +atmospheric derangement, occasioned, +apparently, neither by an opened window nor by +a door. Some papers fluttered to the floor, the +fringes of the hangings softly waved, and, indeed, +it would still have been easy to dismiss the matter +as the effect of a vagrant draft had not the state +of things suddenly grown unmistakably unusual. +All the air of the room, it then appeared, rushed +even with violence to the point and there underwent +what impressed her as an aerial convulsion, +in the very midst and well-spring of which, so +great was the confusion, there seemed to appear +at intervals almost the semblance of a shape.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[426]</a></span></p> + +<p>The silence of the room was disturbed by a book +that flew open with fluttering leaves, the noise of a +vase of violets blown over, from which the perfumed +water dripped to the floor, and soft touchings +all around as of a breeze passing through a +chamber full of trifles.</p> + +<p>The ringlets of the Lady's hair were swept forward +toward the corner upon which her gaze was +fixed, and in which the conditions had now grown +so tense with imminent occurrence and so rent +with some inconceivable throe that she involuntarily +rose, and, stepping forward against the +pressure of her petticoats which were blown about +her ankles, she impatiently thrust her hand into +the——</p> + +<p>She was immediately aware that another hand +had received it, though with a far from substantial +envelopment, and for another moment what +she saw before her trembled between something +and nothing. Then from the precarious situation +there slowly emerged into dubious view the shape +of a young man dressed in evening clothes over +which was flung a mantle of voluminous folds +such as is worn by ghosts of fashion.</p> + +<p>“The very deuce was in it!” he complained; “I +thought I should never materialize.”</p> + +<p>She flung herself into her chair, confounded; +yet, even in the shock of the emergency, true to +herself, she did not fail to smooth her ruffled locks.</p> + +<p>Her visitor had been scanning his person in a +dissatisfied way, and with some vexation he now<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[427]</a></span> +ejaculated: “Beg your pardon, my dear, but are +my feet on the floor, or where in thunder are +they?”</p> + +<p>It was with a tone of reassurance that she confessed +that his patent-leathers were the trivial +matter of two or three inches from the rug. +Whereupon, with still another effort, he brought +himself down until his feet rested decently upon +the floor. It was only when he walked about to +examine the bric-à-brac that a suspicious lightness +was discernible in his tread.</p> + +<p>When he had composed himself by the survey, +effecting it with an air of great insouciance, which, +however, failed to conceal the fact that his heart +was beating somewhat wildly, he approached the +Lady.</p> + +<p>“Well, here we are again, my love!” he cried, +and devoured her hands with ghostly kisses. “It +seems an eternity that I've been struggling back +to you through the outer void and what-not. +Sometimes, I confess I all but despaired. Life is +not, I assure you, all beer and skittles for the +disembodied.”</p> + +<p>He drew a long breath, and his gaze upon her +and the entire chamber seemed to envelop all and +cherish it.</p> + +<p>“Little room, little room! And so you are +thus! Do you know,” he continued, with vivacity, +“I have wondered about it in the grave, and I +could hardly sleep for this place unpenetrated. +Heigho! What a lot of things we leave undone!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[428]</a></span> +I dashed this off at the time, the literary passion +strong in me, thus:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Now, when all is done, and I lie so low,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I cannot sleep for this, my only care;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For though of that dim place I could not know;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That where my heart was fain I did not go,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nor saw you musing there!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>“Well, well, these things irk a ghost so. Naturally, +as soon as possible I made my way back—to be satisfied—to +be satisfied that you were still +mine.” He bent a piercing look upon her.</p> + +<p>“I observe by the calendar on your writing-table +that some years have elapsed since my——um——since +I expired,” he added, with a faint +blush. It appears that the matter of their dissolution +is, in conversation, rather kept in the +background by well-bred ghosts.</p> + +<p>“Heigho! How time does fly! You'll be joining +me soon, my dear.”</p> + +<p>She drew herself splendidly up, and he was +aware of her beauty in the full of its tenacious +excellence—of the delicate insolence of Life looking +upon Death—of the fact <i>that she had forgotten him</i>.</p> + +<p>He rose, and confronted this, his trembling +hands thrust into his pockets, then turned away +to hide the dismay of his countenance. He was, +however, a spook of considerable spirit, and in a +jiffy he met the occasion. To her blank, indignant +gaze he drew a card from his case, and, taking a pencil +from the secretary, wrote, beneath the name:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[429]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Quiet to the breast<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Wheresoe'er it be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That gave an hour's rest<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To the heart of me.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Quiet to the breast<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Till it lieth dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the heart be clay<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where I visited.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Quiet to the breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Though forgetting quite<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The guest it sheltered once;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To the heart, good night!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Handing her the card he bowed, and, through +force of habit, turned to the door, forgetting that +his ghostly pressure would not turn the knob.</p> + +<p>As the door did not open, with a sigh of recollection +for his spiritual condition, he prepared to disappear, +casting one last look at the faithless Lady. +She was still looking at the card in her hand, and +the tears ran down her face.</p> + +<p>“She has remembered,” he reflected; “how +courteous!” For a moment it seemed he could +contain his disappointment, discreetly removing +himself now at what he felt was the vanishing-point, +with the customary reticence of the dead, but feeling +overcame him. In an instant he had her in +his arms, and was pouring out his love, his reproaches, +the story of his longing, his doubts, his +discontent, and his desperate journey back to earth +for a sight of her. “And, ah!” cried he, “picture +my agony at finding that you had forgotten. And<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[430]</a></span> +yet I surmised it in the gloom. I divined it by +my restlessness and my despair. Perhaps some +lines that occurred to me will suggest the thing to +you—you recall my old knack for versification?</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Where the grasses weep<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er his darkling bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the glow-worms creep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lies the weary head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of one laid deep, who cannot sleep:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The unremembered dead.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>He took a chair beside her, and spoke of their +old love for each other, of his fealty through all +transmutations; incidentally of her beauty, of her +cruelty, of the light of her face which had illumined +his darksome way to her—and of a lot of other +things—and the Lady bowed her head, and wept.</p> + +<p>The hours of the night passed thus: the moon +waned, and a pallor began to tinge the dusky cheek +of the east, but the eloquence of the visitor still +flowed on, and the Lady had his misty hands +clasped to her reawakened bosom. At last a +suspicion of rosiness touched the curtain. He +abruptly rose.</p> + +<p>“I cannot hold out against the morning,” he +said; “it is time all good ghosts were in bed.”</p> + +<p>But she threw herself on her knees before him, +clasping his ethereal waist with a despairing +embrace.</p> + +<p>“Oh, do not leave me,” she cried, “or my love +will kill me!”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[431]</a></span></p> + +<p>He bent eagerly above her. “Say it again—convince +me!”</p> + +<p>“I love you,” she cried, again and again and +again, with such an anguish of sincerity as would +convince the most skeptical spook that ever +revisited the glimpses of the moon.</p> + +<p>“You will forget again,” he said.</p> + +<p>“I shall never forget!” she cried. “My life +will henceforth be one continual remembrance of +you, one long act of devotion to your memory, +one oblation, one unceasing penitence, one agony +of waiting!”</p> + +<p>He lifted her face, and saw that it was true.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said he, gracefully wrapping his cloak +about him, “well, now I shall have a little peace.”</p> + +<p>He kissed her, with a certain jaunty grace, upon +her hair, and prepared to dissolve, while he lightly +tapped a tattoo upon his leg with the dove-colored +gloves he carried.</p> + +<p>“Good-by, my dear!” he said; “henceforth I +shall sleep o' nights; my heart is quite at rest.”</p> + +<p>“But mine is breaking,” she wailed, madly +trying once more to clasp his vanishing form.</p> + +<p>He threw her a kiss from his misty finger-tips, +and all that remained with her, besides her broken +heart, was a faint disturbance of the air.</p> + + +<div class="trans-note"> +<h4>Transcriber's Notes</h4> + +<ul> +<li><a href="#Page_25">Page 25</a>—Possible typo, but left it as the original. “...and contented +himself, as a rule, with creeping about the passages in <b>list</b> +slippers,...”</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_25">Page 25</a>—arquebuse—printer typo corrected to arquebus.</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_231">Page 231</a>—setting—printer typo corrected to sitting.</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_255">Page 255</a>—missing word “have” inserted to: “But now I'll none of you, +for you've played with me.”</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_304">Page 304</a>—Potential typo. “...walkin' round an' round the graveyard +<b>lie</b> a six days' race fer the belt at Madison Square.”</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_325">Page 325</a>—inpatient—typo corrected to impatient. Although inpatient is +a valid word, it is incorrectly used in this instance.</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_345">Page 345</a>—is—printer typo corrected to in.</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_408">Page 408</a>—Possible typo, but left it as in the original. “...then the +<b>affection</b> spread to her knees and gradually extended upward.”</li> + +<li>Several instances of variant spelling of reci-pe and recipe. Left as in +the original.</li> +</ul> +</div> + + +<div class="bbox2"> +<h2>From</h2> +<h1>A Southern Porch</h1> + +<h4>By<br /> +<br /> +Dorothy Scarborough<br /> +<br /> +<i>A Book of Whimsy</i></h4> + +<p>The author does not preach the lost art of loafing. +No! Nothing so direct as preaching. She +merely loafs,—consistently, restfully, delightfully, +but with an almost fatal hypnotic persuasiveness. +She is a sort of stationary Pied Piper, luring the +unwary reader to her sun-flecked porch, to watch +with her the queer procession of created things +go by,—from lovers and ghosts to lizards and +toads.</p> + +<p>Under the spell, convinced that loafing is better +than doing, the reader stays and chuckles over +the quiet humor and quaint fancies. He gets +away finally,—all delightful experiences must +end in this work-a-day world,—still chuckling, +but with a renewed sense of life and life's values.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h3><span class="g">G. P. Putnam's Sons</span></h3> +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Whismy" width="60%"> +<tr><td align='left'>New York</td><td align='right'>London</td></tr> +</table></div> +</div> + +<br /><br /> + +<div class="bbox2"> +<h1>The<br /> +Kiltartan<br /> +Poetry Book</h1> + +<h4><i>Prose Translations from the Irish</i></h4> + +<h3>By<br /> +<br /> +Lady Gregory</h3> +<br /> +<div class="center">Author of “Irish Folk-History Plays,” “Seven Short<br /> +Plays,” “Our Irish Theatre,” etc.<br /> +</div> + +<p>Certainly no single individual has done more +than Lady Gregory to revive the Irish Literature, +and to bring again to light the brave +old legends, the old heroic poems. From her +childhood, the author has studied this ancient +language, and has collected most of her material +from close association with the peasants +who have inherited these poems and tales.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<h3><span class="g">G. P. Putnam's Sons</span></h3> +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Kiltartan" width="60%"> +<tr><td align='left'>New York</td><td align='right'>London</td></tr> +</table></div> +</div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Humorous Ghost Stories, by Dorothy Scarborough + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUMOROUS GHOST STORIES *** + +***** This file should be named 26950-h.htm or 26950-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/9/5/26950/ + +Produced by David Edwards, Marcia Brooks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +book was produced from scanned images of public domain +material from the Google Print project.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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