“Pretty cold for a ghost,” Barry smiled. “We’ve been here two hours or more and haven’t heard anything yet.”
“I hope we don’t!” said another girl, looking around the room uneasily.
“It will be all right,” Charlie Black assured her. “We’ll let Castor Oil loose all night and he’ll sic the ghost. He’s a fine sic-er!”
“The spook will run if he ever finds out the dog’s name!” said Mac, amid a general laugh.
“Coach, how about telling us a good ghost story tonight?” Bill Jefferson asked. “The atmosphere is just right.”
“The atmosphere is all right,” the athletic instructor smiled. “But I’m afraid of some nerves around here. I know a ghost story wouldn’t bother the boys, but I don’t want to upset the girls.”
But the girls themselves begged him to tell at least one after the meal was over, and at length he agreed to do so. Coach Jordan was a good story teller, and many times he had spun some lively yarns while on overnight hikes with the boys of Cloverfield. He excelled in creepy mystery stories, and the young people looked forward with eager anticipation to a good one after supper.
“How about some boy volunteers to dry dishes?” Pearl asked, as they got up to carry plates back to the kitchen. “We did all the work of preparing supper. I know that most of you boys camp out, so you must know how to wash and dry dishes!”
“How about letting Castor Oil lick all the plates and then drying them over the stove?” Charlie shouted, but an indignant chorus of voices answered him, and he went off chuckling.
“All right, the men will take charge of the kitchen from now on,” cried Coach Jordan. “No ladies allowed out there except to bring your plates.”