“Say, Worth, old bughouse!” exclaimed Wiley, slapping the deranged man on the shoulder; “don’t ever let out another geezly groan like that! Why, my heart rose up and kicked my hair just about a foot into the air. I thought all the ghosts, and spooks, and things of the unseen world had broken loose at one break. You ought to take something for that. You need a tonic. I would recommend Lizzie Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound.”
“Keep still, can’t you!” exclaimed Hodge, in a low tone. “If we hear that voice again, I’d like to locate the point from whence it comes.”
“Oh, I will keep still if you will guarantee to muzzle Worth here,” assured the sailor.
The deranged man was silent now, and they all seemed to be listening with eager intentness.
“Why doesn’t he sing some more, Merry?” whispered Bart.
After some moments, the mysterious voice was heard again. It seemed to come from the air above them, and they distinctly heard it call a name:
“Frank!”
Merry stood perfectly still, but, in spite of himself, Bart Hodge gave a start of astonishment.
“Frank Merriwell!”
Again the voice called.