“You foolish boy,” cried Mrs. Jericho, anxious to set aside the subject; “come and tell me what really brought you here. Who could have expected you!”
“Arn’t you delighted, dear boy,” said the appeased Monica, “that we’re coming to live here?”
“Live here! why none of you will ever be able to sleep for the ghosts,” cried Basil.
“Ghosts!” exclaimed the ladies.
“Yes: the ghosts of the feasts you’ve had at the cost of good old Carraways. At twelve o’clock every night”—
“Now, don’t be foolish, Basil,” exclaimed Monica.
“I won’t hear you,” said Agatha, putting her fingers in her ears, and tripping backwards.
“At twelve o’clock at night every saucepan will be haunted: every mug, every tankard, every goblet, and every custard-cup will go banging, clanging, ringing, tinkling, with the ghosts of the dinners and the suppers you’ve had in this house. You won’t air your bed of nights, that there sha’n’t be a red-hot ghost in the warming-pan.”
“Then, I fear, Basil, we may not count upon you as a visitor, unless indeed you defy apparitions?” said Mrs. Jericho.
“No, my dear madam, I shall never rent a spare bed here, I assure you. Moreover, pray don’t summon me to King Jericho’s banquet, for I shall be sure to have other business. By the way, as you’ve entered upon your dominion, permit me”—said Basil, taking off his hat and approaching his father-in-law—“permit me, your majesty, to give you seizin of it.”