Back to the Woods | Page 6

the janitor, Angel-Face?" I asked.
"Only just another remembrance," Tacks answered, solemnly. "I
happened to find a poor, little dead mouse under the gas range and I
thought I'd farewell the janitor with it."
Aunt Martha sighed painfully and Uncle Peter chuckled inwardly like a
mechanical toy hen.
On the train out to Jiggersville Clara J. was a picture entitled, "The Joy
of Living"--kind regards to Mrs. Pat Campbell; Ibsen please write.
As for me with every revolution of the wheels I grew more and more
like a half portion of chipped beef.
"Oh, John!" said Clara J., her voice shrill with excitement; "I forgot to
tell you! I left my key with Mother, and she's going to superintend the
packing of the furniture this afternoon. By evening she expects to have
everything loaded in the van and we won't have to wait any time for our
trunks and things!"
"Great Scott!" I yelled; "maybe you won't like the house! Maybe it's
only a shanty with holes in the roof--er, I mean, maybe you'll be
disappointed with the lay-out! What's the blithering sense of being in
such a consuming fever about moving the fiendish furniture? I'm
certain you'll hate the very sight of this corn-crib out among the ant
hills. Can't you back-pedal on the furniture gag and give yourself a
chance to hear the answer to what you ask yourself?"
Clara J. looked tearfully at me for a moment; then she went over and
sat with Aunt Martha and told her how glad she was we were moving

to the country where the pure air would no doubt have a soothing effect
on my nerves because I certainly had grown irritable of late.
At last we reached the little old log cabin down the lane and after the
first glimpse I knew it was all off.
The place I had borrowed from Bunch for a few minutes was a dream,
all right, all right.
With its beautiful lawns and its glistening gravelled walks; with a
modern house perfect in every detail; with its murmuring brooklet
rushing away into a perspective of nodding green trees and with the
bright sunshine smiling a welcome over all it made a picture calculated
to charm the most hardened city crab that ever crawled away from the
cover of the skyscrapers.
As for Clara J. she simply threw up both hands and screamed for help.
She danced and yelled with delight. Then she hugged and kissed me
with a thousand reiterated thanks for my glorious present.
I felt as joyous as a jelly fish. Ten-legged microbes began to climb into
my pores. Everything I had in my system rushed to my head. I could
see myself in the giggle-giggle ward in a bat house, playing I was the
king of England.
I was a joke turned upside down.
After they had examined every nook and cranny of the place and had
talked themselves hoarse with delight I called them all up on the front
piazza for the purpose of putting out their lights with my ghost story.
I figured on driving them all back to the depot with about four
paragraphs of creepy talk, so when I had them huddled I began in a
hoarse whisper to raise their hair.
I told them that no doubt they had noticed the worried expression on
my face and explained that it was due chiefly to the fact that I had
learned quite by accident that this beautiful place was haunted.
Tacks grew so excited that he dropped a garden spade off the piazza
and into a hot house below, breaking seven panes of glass, but the
others only smiled indulgently and I went on.
I jumped head first into my most blood-curdling story and related in
detail how a murder had been committed on the very site the house was
built on and how a fierce bewhiskered spirit roamed the premises at
night and demanded vengeance. I described in awful words the
harrowing spectacle and all I got at the finish was the hoot from Uncle

Peter.
"Poor John," said Clara J., "I had no idea you were so run down. Why,
you're almost on the verge of nervous prostration. And how thoughtful
you were to pick out a haunted house, for I do love ghosts. Didn't you
know that? I'll tell you what let's do. I'll give a prize for the first one
who sees and speaks to this unhappy spirit--won't it be jolly? Where are
you going, John?"
"Me, to the undertakers--I mean I must run back to town. That telegram
this morning--important business--forgot all about it--see you
later--don't breathe till I get back--I mean, don't live till I--Oh! the
devil!"
Just then I fell over the lawn mower, picked myself up hastily and
rushed off