The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 1, 1901, Page 5

THE SUNDAY CALL. ; B ir GQhosts. i Gl w - eRev:S5-B arj_@ SRR BT e 2520 AT TN (Oopyright Im the United States of 'A'm.m. by D. T. Pierce.) HE family of Fungus-Smythe was settled in B—shire. Mr. Smith had mede a forture in business in the north and desired to acquire a po- sition in the south, away from the of trade, as a country gentlempn. He a sed an ancient manor house of n architecture and trusted to beirg absorbed into the exclusive class of county people. But the county people, es a2 c are suspicious and not expan sive: and to obtain recognition it behooves the new comer to pay his footing. He ive shooting parties for the gentle- balis for the ladies. hat Mr. Smith ac- he assumed his neme of Fungus, which he added to differentiate himself from »« and to furth emphasize the social scale, he converted mith into Smythe. But when said t Mr. Smith did this it must be supposed that the prompting spirit his ample bréast. It was Mrs was ambitious and endeavored te the traces or trail that led il in Lancashire to Beauman- hire. Mr. Smith himself was a straightforward, worthy English- who detested humbug, but was in ich awe of the aspiring and domineering jus of Mrs. Smith that he feil in with we and acted as she dictated. ade up of compromises and t are arrived at in do- frs. Smith had désired an pent of the name of Smith the sdoption of a very high-sounding one to which she or her husband had no claim ball was to be given at Beau- o celebrate the coming of age of voung squire,” as Mrs. Fungus- Emythe always now designated her son. It really wes surpnsing how many county people called, when it was whis- pered that the Smythes were about to give e dance on & large soele. “TWhatever are we to do to sccommo- date them =ll?” asked Mrs. Fungus- Smythe of her daughter, Jessie. “I had not calculated on having to house the coachman and Ledy Lumpkin's mald.” “There is no help for it,” said Jessie, “but we must have a couple of beds put into the Haunted Room at the end of the corriior. Tou can send the butler's boy in there, and he can have one bed, the coechman the other, and the boy’'s room can be given up to the lady's maid.” “I suppose it must be #o,” responded the » mother. “Indecd, I do mot ses what else can be éome, mamma; the Lumpkins will have the best bedroom, and Unocle Fungus the littie end room we call the powdering room, and the two cousins Fungus will heve the milk-and-water room, and Aunt E if she comes, and Jane are to oc- cu green room, and— “Yes," interrupted her mother, “that is settled, I have arranged all these par- ticulars. It is only the matter of the maid and the coachman that bothered me.” ‘And I have selved that difficulty,” said wee O eli—yes” and her mother mused, “I supposs there will be no fuss made about the room being haunted.” “Of course not, mamma., the boy will be too tired to think of ghosts, and the coschman not heard of the room be- ing beun Kb servants mey tell him " “They will be far too much ecoupled te think of ghosts.” Bo it was settled The puge boy looked very biank when informed thet he was to be put for the night into the haunted room, but raliled wi that it would be shared flrllm by 8ir Temy Lumpkin's coach- lay with - is te cesse at 2 o’clock,” Oy iy ey our r&xh‘r is ptory. We may éraw it out to t, but he s he I have il the lights out at twe-thirty. obstinate maen. That is why was £ to have the ball begin rather \ early, ani t on the oard that dancing will be till g‘o’dook. It is tiresome. complicate IMALLErs Aun: muxs Was { Eliza was an eminently kindl member of the Fun| family, well to but not refined either in appearance or Tood graclous!” exclaimed Mrs. Fun- oy e on the morning before the 1 Here is Aunt Eliza actually com- ing, and she has left our invitation—which We mever expected her to accept—un- owledged until now. What shall we Put up with her, of course, said Jes- it is putting her up, as well,” com- Mrs. Fungus-Smythe. must go in with Janie,” observed @ e won't mind." sighed Mrs. Smythe, “that | not dress in extravagant- and in_crude colors.” old dear,” said Jessie, “and not matter in such a crowd have, how she dresses.” off well, and punctually Mr. Smythe was impera- ers, several nieces, and dies pleaded, but in vain. hushed, and by half past left, that is to say such ng in the house, and ired to their rooms as butler extinguished reception rooms. Herbert was his name. \ly called Herbey, hung 1ts’ hall. Nothing would to bed early; he would ir. Bunce, the coachman h bo: was gene about in the serv induce him to retire when did of the Lumpkins “Come now,’ the housekeeper said to m. *“Little chaps like you ought to be ctween the sheets and snoring, hours ne.” Please, Mrs. Jacks,” answered the boy, 1 durstn’t go because of the ghost.” N5 v NN “A \\\\_“}a Wik “What ghost?’ asked the coachman: “Oh, it's a story, sir,” said the hous ish story people have got—' “But, ma’am, it's true that the little age was murdered in that very room. "ve seen it in print in_the guide book to the neighborhood,” said Herbey. “That may be so,” said Mrs. J don’t take it on me to deny th; thing did happen, but that w old family’s time. You don’t suppose that the ghost would stay on after the family has =old the hous “It’s more than one ghost,” protested the boy. “The butler was hung for murdering him, and they say that both are seen,” threw in one of the housemalds. ““You neéd not be frightened,” said the housekeeper cheerily. ‘“No one as I have ever heard of hes ever s, ither ghost.” “No,” retorted the boy And for very &9od reasons, too—for none have been put afore into the haunted room.’ ““Are you put into the haunted room?” asked Mr. Bunce, looking disconcerted. “Yes—and so are you,” said the boy, “and I call it & horrid shame to send a poor little innocent boy like me Into the room where ghosts are seen.” “‘Btuff,” said the housekeeper, “you will ;::I Jbe alone. Mr. Bunce will be with “And I say thet I don’t see why I should be put there either,” prvtl:“l the coachman. “You're surely not afraid, eir,” ex- claimed M: ks, starin Mhlmh ‘such erbey there to Pprotect you. AT 3 m not afraid. I dare sey it is rats, but 1 objects to rats. I ob; :Dtl to all 11 at night, that I do. haver! hole 'story, what was the ““’Cos he saw the’ butler file out the crests from a lot of plate, and then go 1‘“1?"““ it to a Jew. And he said he'd e ‘How did the butler kill him?" “That there butler went to a chemist and bought a diachylon plaster, shaped like a heart. It was winter time, like now, and he had a hot bottle in his bed, and he melted the wax on that—of course he put the wax outside, not against the bottle.” “*Of course,” sald Mr. Bunce. ““And then he clapped it over the mouth of the pore boy.” “Pore boy,” repeated the coachman. “That smothered his screams, and it stified him as well.” “But bow was it found out?” “When the boy was dead—the wax got cold, and the butler had a trouble to get the plaster off, but did it at last, and then chucked the plaster away out of the window into a bush, where it 'ung,” said the button boy solemnly. “And he was discovered by it?"" asked the coachman. “He was found out by it sald the boy. *“You see, the wax was set, hard, and when that 'ere butler tere it off, the wax stuck to the pore page boy's lips and nostrils, and that left quite a pletur on the plaster of where his mouth and nose 'ad been. When the body was found next morning, there was wax sticking to the face, just at the places where it was missin’ on the diachylon plaster. And it was proved that the butler had bought the plaster, 2nd so he was convicted.” “And hung,” threw in Mr. Bunce. “Yes, he was hung,” said the button boy, “and what is more, he was a fat, ross sort o' man, much like you, Mr. unce. and they .dursm't hlflg him with &u ordinary bell rope, so they had for him a ship's hawser.” riul,’ id ‘the coachman. “IL s orful,” ooserved Herbéy, wots orfuller is that both the butler and re boy walk as ghosts, and vou is st of all—they'veegone and stuck nd me into the very room waere they walk.” bloodthirsty cruelty,” “I’didn't think Mr. Smythe ‘was capable of it,I didn’t.” said the housekeeper, “the place'is so full of guests that we really didn’t know where eise to put you, Herbey had to vacate his room for Miss mas. Z 'But why did they not put me into Her- bey’s room, and let Miss Mr. Bunce. homas 'ave the the coachman, “Oh, Mr. Bunce, we have put the button boy in to protect you.” “Me!—Do you think I am afraid?. Not 1 don't belleve in ghosts. 1 was think- es. “But what have the 'osses to de with Mrs. Jacks: h that there bo; Herbey; in’ all sorts of Srilic A astly thing £ ‘em and Swakin' e’ op wi ‘Then that'll: shake d, 1 tell you, a coachman as drives a pair of "osses, and one in stumble, don’t ort to have his nerves 00k. ““Well, Mr. Bunce, here goes out the gas. Master has. turned screams in the night. a Take your y short bit.” demurred 't you give me a couple 00 see, I'm five times as big as the boy, and so take five times as ' divested of her manifol inches more? long undressing.” e nuuscaecper graciously offered Mr. Bunce a lenger_candle. “Now, thiei, Shaver, take the light and lead the way." 2 “1_think: d best go first,” retorted the boy. foller. You're the oldest.” “How can I lead when I don't know the way?’ .y “\Well; if T go first," said the boy, “you walk close arter me, and breathe hard, that 1 may hear you at my heels.” Silence had settled down over the old manor house. All had retired to thefr rocms, and as Homer would have sald, all the ways (i e., the passages) were dark- ened. ‘Most of the household and visitors had retreated into bed, and many, fagged out + with dancing, had fallen asleep. . But in the green bedroom sat.Aunt Eliza and her niece, Janie Smith—not Smythe, for,she belonged to a branch of the fam- ily “that had not’ biossomed into- county gentry. ““Auntie,” sald Janie, who was unclothed, and wore a white dressing gown, “let us “sit by the fire and have a ‘talk. 'For my - part, I am not a bit tired.” “Well, my dear, 1 do not mind two min- utes. Tlike to'warm my feet before retir. ing between the sheets. As you see, .1 always wear bed socks, even in summer,” Aunt Eliza_was a stout, elderly lacy, with a' good-natured, florid faCe. She . wore a night cap when she went. to bed, an article that is now ‘almost, if not en: tirely, out of fashion. But Aunt Eiliza be- longed to the old world. and could not ac- commodate herself to new faugled ways. ‘She was sure she would catch cold if she slept out of her night cap. She also was ° garments, -but ‘““Have the osts b Aunt Eigas o oy, oo : en in old times.” I mean re- “Nit since the house passed out of the hands of the old family. Perhaps after all they were not included in the inven- tory and so felt that they were not in duty botind to put in an appearance.” “Let us hope so,” . “T do not kno ghed Aunt Eliza. They are so interest- ose they have become rare ears—if there are such things.” 1, of course there must be. ing to see one!” t is time for us to go to bed,” said ‘‘Oh, no, auntie dar! us talk a little longer. warmth now in my feet.” “Aunt Eliza—do you know I have never seen a ghost.” “"Np—really, how odd. Nor have 1" that our education is not Do you belong to ling; do sit and let “I’feel, aunt, complete till we have. the Psychical Research Society?” *‘No, dear: I'm too old for cycling. Be- sides, there are so many calls on one’ aunt, why should not we t that we are haunted m .1 don't want to see them.” 1 really should liks to firm! n apparitions, convinced throu of my senses.” ! nv t'a}é.g M?edm: lved, it pos- -here Ve sible, to get a sight of the ghost: “I don't think we ha: lntbuthlt kl;d e!l thing, oy s curling up her toes, as though clenchi; her opinion with them. . ™ “I want you, darling, dear Aunt Eliza, and Janie came close to her aunt and ad- dressed her coaxingly, come with me now, in the depth of the darkness of a winter night, and explore the haunted room. +‘But there may be people in it.” ‘““There never are any people in it—that s to say, not in the flesh. Since the mur- der no one has ever slept in that room.” “1 couldn't do it,” when I was invi any right to sald Aunt El lrly. had donned a dark dressing gown, and sat by the fire hugging her knees, and' with her feet on the fender, the soles posed to the glow and the toes working like those of an Infant, to enjoy the heat. “This is a fine ola place, s it not, aunt? “Such a lot of oak panel- They say it “I want you to asked Janie. ling and handsome cellings. was built in the relgn of Elizabeth.” ‘“Yes, 1 dare say it is a thousand years old,” answered the old lady, whose knowl- edge of history was not.exact. “I like these ancient manor continued the girl. ‘*“They are so cozy— can't hold with you there, Janie, “They seem to me to be said the old lady, shaking her night cap with the head that ““I should be too fright- ened,” she gasped, and added, “I should catch my death of cold.” “Not if you pulled on your bed socks and walked in them.’ “I couldn’t venture; fancy if we saw 1 don’t believe _It will be so_grand, too, at breakfast for us to tell what we did and show how brave we were." “If 1 do go—I shall put a worsted com- forter round my neck,” said Aunt Eliza. - . . . The page had conducted Mr. Bunce to (l:‘ haunted room and each had retired to b ‘was within it. said her aunt. “Well, anyhow, they are romantic.” ‘Oh, mightily, I dare say.” 3 ‘And, then to have a family ghost!" *“Who has?" “Why, uncle. He bought the house with the _ghost in.it.” Cak “You don't mean to say so? do; two ghosts!” in the inventory “That 1 cannot say. But here they are. You must know, aunt, there was a mur- der. committed here—"" In. this room?” Eliza's ten toes stood thrilling and erect . with horror. “No, in the room at the end of the great Tl tell you the story. a little foot page who detected the builer stealing_the, plate, and he threatened to Then the butler smothered y, but it was all discovered, and . the butler was_hanged.” 3 “‘When 'was that?’ “T'do not know when. but T know it did take place, and -the ghosts :remain to prove that it was so,"” something!” “We shall see nothing. said the coachman, “that I shall put out the candle. I always refer sleeping in a room where there is a In which bed was the boy mur- “In mine" said the page. murderer slept in yours, at least, so I been seen,” asked the d. “It is sald that the butler and his vie- tim, the pore boy, are to be seen of a night the corridor with a ghostly fore them."” coachman from “And where do they goT” “They don’t go nowhere—they come in bere.” The coachman drew a shaky breath. “Wot's your name?” s“Herbey." “Herbey! Dg yo\; h”l"tr anything?* Both held their breath. “T think,” whispered the boy, “that I Io hear light steps.” i “So do I, groaned the coachman, “oh. Shaver! I must speak the truth. I've a body as big as an ox, but a soul no larger than a flea. Run to the door, good boy, and look and report what you se “I shan’t do nothing of the sort,” replied the page indiginantly. ‘“You're a man— you go. It's your duty. You're the old- est.” ‘But I've a wife and family.” ‘Well, and if I live, | may have the same. For thelr sakes, I won't.” “Let us go together.” “Hish!” sald the boy, sitting up in bed and pointing. Both distinctly saw the handle of the door turn. Instantly both leaped from bed. Ths coachman caught up the candle and stood, feet apart, shaking with terror and the candle in his hand oscillating, the boy stood beside him, shivering as well. Slow- 1y the door opened, a light entered, then all at once they were confronted by two spectral forms, the one stout, the other slim. Plercing shrieks and the bellowing as of 2 bull resounded through the corridor and instantaneously both lights were ex- tinguished. In the darkness, terror became more Intense, and the screams and bellowing continued and swelled in volume. Pres- ently a door opened and Mr. Smythe emerged hastily, wrapped about in a dressing gown, and holding a light. ‘“What the deuce is the matter?” he in- quired. He found Aunt Eliza and his niece, Janie, careering like frightened birds about the passage, unable in the pitch darkness to find their door. “Oh, uncle, we have seen the ghosts!" *‘Oh, James! I have seen both of them! O, horror!, O. bones!"™ Now other doors began to unclose, and heads were thrust forth and Inquiries made as to the cause of the uproar. Mr. Smythe went boldly down the gal- lery, driving the two frightened women before him, and he thrust them into their room. Then, standing at the door whilst they were within, quaking and looking blank, he catechised the aunt and her niece. here did you see the ghost?” as k gasped Aunt Eliza, putting a hand on his arm. “The butler and the boy, both in white and with a spectral light before them.™ “Where?” iIn the Haunted Chamber.” nd you, Janie; you are generally es- teemed a sensible girl. v&’l:nt do you say?” “l saw them as well. One was fat, the other thin. One big : d the other Mtt exactly as described.” . “Described? By whom?" “T mean as supposed to be seen.” “But what in the world brought you out of your room?" ““We both wanted to see the ghosts. That is to say—I did, and I persuaded Aunt Eliza to come with me.” “And now you have had your desire. You have seen the ghosts.” “Yes,” sighed Janie, “and I hope I shall never see any more.” “Who made that hideous bellowing like a bull? Not you, Eliza, surely?” “No,” said the old lady in nervous ter- ror. “I couldn’t bellow. I had no breath. It _must have been the ghost.” beAnd you went to the Haunted Cham- er 2" “Yes,” both answered faintly. Mr. Smythe now marched boldly for- ward to the end room, the door of which was opened. He entered. The beds wers empty. However, he saw a large, whits globular something - under one of them, and stooping, he laid hold of an article of clothing composed of whnite cotton. He dragged at it, but it tore in his hand, and he reeled back holding a fragment of the size of a dinner napkin. Them he kicked at the object under the bed and ordered in a loud and peremptory voice: "l]fnme out, you skulking rascal; come out!” Presently the coachman emerged and simultaneously from under the second bed crawled the button boy. ““What is the meanirg of\ this uproar?” asked the master of the house. “Oh, sir, we have seen the ghosts—the butler and the page, both with a Hght going before them and—and—and—the old one had a ship’s hawser about his neck— the rope wherewith he was hanged.” “‘Nonsense,” said Mr. Smythe, “it was nothing but fancy.” “Please, sir, 1 saw both. I will take my dicke; said the boy. *‘And so, sir, did 1,” threw in Mr. Bunce; “I say it on my oath as a coachman to & baronet.” beaNly @1d you both crawl under your eds?" “1 was that frightened, partly with the sight of the ghosts and partly with the bellowing of Mr. Bunce,” said the boy. “I was not frightened,” said the cosch- man; ‘“not I; oh, ne, but I—I have my master’s interests at heart, and I know there is no one else competent to drive Sir Tony and my lady home—and it is a long way, sir, and Brown Bess does stum- ble. and needs a tight nand.” All at once Mr. Bunce's face grew livid and his great jaw dropped. “There! They are there ain!” he gasped, and looked hastily behind him to see that the coast was clear that he might m"‘l“fx another bolt. . ““There! ere they are again!™ shrieked the boy, as he turned and made an attempt to dive under his bed once more. Mr. Smythe caught him by the arm. “Stay and do not be such a ocoward. ‘Where are the ghosts?"” “There! There, sir, looking over your shouider."” Mr. Smythe turned and saw Aunt Hiiss and Janie standing In the rear, by their curiosity they had followed te see the end. Aunt still wore the sr2y worsted comforter about her throat. T. Smythe saw more. The corridor was filling with members of his family, the visitors, various costumes, {h most with candles, all wi heads. and wide extended eyes, and & dearth of bloom in their cheeks. All wers clamoring to know what was the matter. Had burglars broken into the house? Had any throats been cut? Was much taken? Whese jewelry? Had fire broken out? ‘Were there fire engines and ladders? Mr. Smythe pacified them. “Nightmare! nothing_but nightmars,” was his explanation. He shut the door of the Haunted Room and drove Aunt Elfza and their niece into their chamber. By degrees the alarmed assembly dis- persed. Next morning Mrs. Fungus-Smythe was radiant. “Nothing could have been bet- ter,” she sald. “It was the climax to the ball—the ghosts. All old families have hereditary ghosts. We have a double name and so have two ghosts.” In the servants’ hall Mr. Bunce was questioned about the disturbance. ““Was it true.that you saw the ghosts?” asked the housekeeper. ““Mrs. Jacks,” said ihe coachman sel- emmly, “I aver that I did—two, one stout, the other slim. To my dying day I shall be a believer in ghosts.” “Is it true that you went under the ““Mrs. Jacks,” answered the coachman, “it is true. “Frightened, Mr. Bunce?" No, ma'am, not frightened. Fright don’t rhyme with Bunce. But 'm a man of delicacy of feeling, and thers were Jadies in the corrider, and I was not in my livery.” In the bedroom were Aunt Eliza and very solid human_beings.” “I think. Aunt Eliza, it would be best to stick to it that they were ghosts that we saw.’ .