I felt things slipping.
“Nothing,” I said, and looked around for the ghost. Suppose she had lingered, and upon hearing what my wife had said should suddenly appear——Like all sensitive women, Lavinia was subject to hysterics.
“I—I always do when I'm interested,” I gulped. “But don't you think that was a foolish thing to buy?”
“Foolish! Oh, John! Foolish! And after me getting it for you!”
“For me! What do you mean?”
“To help you write your stories. Why, for instance, suppose you wanted to write an historical novel. You wouldn't have to wear your eyes out over those musty old books in the public library. All you'd have to do would be to get out your Ouija and talk to Napoleon, or William the Conqueror, or Helen of Troy—well, maybe not Helen—anyhow you'd have all the local color you'd need, and without a speck of trouble. And think how easy writing your short stories will be now.”
“But Lavinia, you surely don't believe in Ouija boards.”
“I don't know, John—they are awfully thrilling.”
She had seated herself on the arm of my chair and was looking dreamily across the room. I started and turned around. There was nothing there, and I sank back with relief. So far so good.