He performed a jig, and then set out in mad pursuit of his comrades.
We assign no reason for this act; but if the reader was ever a boy, he will understand.
George gave a yell of triumph; but it savoured so strongly of fear that Will, who had gained an open space, called out cheerily, “Don’t be afraid, George, if it’s you. Come straight ahead; here we are.”
“What on earth made such a rumpus?” demanded Stephen, already recovered from his fright.
“It must have been something; but of course we were not frightened;” said the others, whose fears the bright sunshine and the twittering birds had dispelled.
“The idea of saying I was afraid!” George roared. “I did that myself.”
“You made that noise?” gasped the four, in one breath.
“Yes, boys; I was the ghost;” George said complacently.
“And the murder—?” Marmaduke began.
“Never was!” George declared. “Boys, last night I was reading about ventriloquism; and I set to work and practised it. The man that wrote it said, ‘After five minutes’ practice, the veriest tyro will find himself able to rout a coward;’ and I guess he was right.”