"Hm! Brighton! Swell place by the sea, ain't it?"
"It's quite a fashionable resort, just what Mrs. Baxter needs."
"No ghosts there?" chuckled the big fellow.
"No ghosts," laughed the doctor, as he waved farewell.
Hiram sent Bob back in the automobile and walked home. With this mention of Brighton there had come to him an idea that he wanted to work out, an idea having to do with his general plan of reducing expenses. If a stay at the seashore was what Eleanor needed, why not give her enough of it, say a fortnight or a month? And, if they were going to be away a month, why not close Ipping House and get rid of a raft of servants? And why not—— then frowning he thought of his relatives and of his favorite purpose regarding them as he had outlined it to the Bishop of Bunchester, and then he thought apprehensively of Eleanor.
"Holy cats!" he muttered. "It's goin' to be a job, but I'll do it."
That evening, after dinner, he went to his wife's room and asked her carelessly how she would like to go down to Brighton for a week or two. Eleanor beamed. She would love it. Was he really going to take her? How soon? Could they stay a whole fortnight in Brighton?
Hiram assured her most considerately that they could stay a whole month in Brighton, if she wished. And they would start the next day. She had been through a great strain. It was no joke to see a ghost, he understood that. They ought to have known better than to take a house that had a ghost in it. And then, as tactfully as he could, the old boy came around to his point that it might be just as well to close Ipping House and—and give the ghost a rest.
Eleanor's eyes narrowed dangerously as she watched him from her lace pillow.
"Close Ipping House?" she repeated in a cold, even tone. "Do you realize what you are saying?"