“Hearty appetites are in vogue at Springbrook Farm,” laughed Kenneth; “and I want you all to eat till you are perfectly satisfied. Athletes should eat well at times.”
“Yaw,” nodded Hans, “I pelief me; but dot Vrankie Merrivell peen keepin’ der barty in draining so much dot I don’d had nottings to ead vot you like two veeks a time at. Dot kindt uf pusiness makes you got fat like a ghost.”
“Speaking about ghosts,” said Kenneth, with a sly wink at Merriwell, “there is a story that our summerhouse is haunted. As you fellows are going to stop there to-night, I trust you will not be troubled by spirits.”
Hans’ jaw dropped.
“Vot?” he squawked. “I don’d toldt you dere peen a ghost dot house in?”
“Sure,” nodded Kenneth. “Those who have seen it describe it as a tall, white figure, and those who have felt it say it has clammy, ice-cold hands.”
“Woo!” cried Hans, shivering. “I don’d pelief I vant to slept dot summerhouses in!”
“Oh, the ghost only appears occasionally, and it is not at all likely it will visit the summerhouse to-night.”
“Vale, you don’d know apout dot. Uf dot ghost heard I vos here, he peen sure to come. Uf you gif me a bistol und dot ghost came, mape he peen aple to shot me.”
“You mean that you will be able to shoot the ghost.”