“They can't fit us,” said I; “they were made in London.”
I spoke rather sharply, I suppose. And as I was speaking, a most astonishing thing happened—the person I had been speaking to suddenly disappeared. He was, and then he was not! I sprang up, and I could tell from my wife's exclamation that she was startled, too. As for Uncle Bainbridge, he seldom gives way to emotion not directly connected with his meals or his money.
“Here, you!” I called out loudly, looking about me.
The figure came waveringly into view again.
“Where did you go to?” I demanded. “What do you mean by acting like that? Who are you, anyhow?”
“Please, sir,” said the wavery person, “don't speak so crosslike. It always makes me vanish. I can't help it, sir.”
He continued timidly:
“I heard a new American family had moved here and I dropped by to ask you, sir, do you need a ghost?”
“A ghost! Are you——”
“Yes, sir,” with a deprecating smile. “Only an American ghost; but one who would appreciate a situation all the more, sir, for that reason. I don't mind telling you that there's a feeling against us American ghosts here in England, and I've been out of a place for some time. Maybe you have noticed a similar feeling toward Americans? I'm sure, sir, you must have noticed a discrimination, and——”