"Thank you," I said.
We wished him good-night, and left the house.
CHAPTER XIII.
[I TAKE THE HAUNTED HOUSE.]
I was too much excited to go home by train, though I knew that my wife would be waiting up for me. I felt the need of physical motion; the idea of sitting down in a railway carriage, and being compelled to keep still because of the people with which at this time of night it was sure to be filled, was unendurable. The confinement and the close air would stifle me. The advantage of walking through streets more or less crowded is that you can be alone if you choose. Every person you meet or pass is so wrapt up in his own affairs that no notice is taken of you. You may wave your arms, flourish your stick or umbrella, mutter to yourself, even talk aloud, without attracting conspicuous attention. An idle fellow or two might think you eccentric--that is all. In a railway carriage or an omnibus such license and freedom are impossible; you cannot shift your seat without drawing all eyes upon you, in a certain sense you become the property of other passengers, who would be likely to regard you with alarmed suspicion, and would probably conclude that you were an escaped lunatic. In such circumstances you are deprived of the power of devoting yourself to the one absorbing subject which occupies your mind.
"I shall walk home," I said to Bob.
He nodded, as though he understood why at so late an hour I deliberately inflicted upon myself a good four mile tramp. For a quarter of that distance we proceeded in silence, and only then did it occur to me that Bob was coming out of his way. I made an observation to this effect.
"If you don't object to my company," he said, "I shall be glad to walk with you."
"What do you think of it all?" I asked.
"I don't know what to think," was his reply.