“That’s the queer part. Not his usual clothes, but that sort of a jersey he wears when he’s doing his exercise.”
“Oh, his gym suit? You saw it plainly?”
“Not so very plainly—but—I felt it!”
“Felt it! What are you talking about?”
“I did, I tell you. He leaned over me, and I put out my hand and touched his arm, and I—I think I felt a tight woolen jersey sleeve.”
“Oh, you think you did! Well, that’s all right, then, but you mustn’t say you felt a ghost. They’re not material, you know.”
“You’re making fun of me, Alvord, but you mustn’t. I know more about these things than you do. Why shouldn’t I? I’ve made a study of them—I’ve read lots of books, and been to lots of séances, and lectures—oh, I know it was a manifestation of San himself!”
“Well, Aunt Abby, if it gives you any comfort to think it was, why, just keep right on thinking. I don’t say there aren’t such happenings. I only say I don’t believe there are. I don’t doubt your word, you understand, but I can’t make my hard common sense take it in. My mind isn’t built that way. Did you hear anything?”
“I heard—” Aunt Abby paused, and blushed a little—”you’ll laugh, I know, but I heard—his watch ticking!”
“Oh, come now, Aunt Abby, that’s a little too much! I can’t help smiling at that! For I’m sure ghosts don’t carry watches, and anyway not in a gymnasium suit!”