“Oh, you’re the ghost, I suppose?” he said rather carelessly.
I approached him and endeavoured to touch his brow with my icy forefinger; but he arose from his chair, regarded me insolently, and—I hate to write it—walked straight through me. I was never so put out in my life. I should have hardly conceived such a thing to be possible; I nearly choked with indignation. For sheer, unadulterated vulgarity, the man who intentionally walks through a ghost may fairly be said to stand alone. You tangible, ponderable people who read cannot remotely imagine my feelings; but any spectre will. Revenge was my one idea.
Having by this outrage convinced himself of my unsubstantial nature, the little cad looked me up and down critically and contemptuously. “Then,” said he, “you can’t upset my plans, anyhow.”
The knowledge that he had plans comforted me somewhat. That they were nefarious I gathered from the pistol which he carried; and that I would confound and outwit him at all costs I also determined.
Not until two in the morning did he prepare for action. Meantime, rendering myself wholly invisible, I sat on a chest of drawers and watched him. At the hour named he shut his book, partially unrobed, put on his slippers, produced a “jemmy” and a dark lantern, picked up his weapon, and silently crawled downstairs.
The hideous truth flashed upon me. He was one of some gang of burglars, and now intended throwing open the house to his accomplices! What was to be done? Our household lay buried in sleep. Warren stole to the butler’s room. Once within it, a stroke or two from his detestable apparatus would put the plate at his mercy.
For one brief moment I lost my nerve. The responsibility of my position was terrible. Then I strung myself to the struggle, and attacked him. But in spite of my frantic gesticulations, aerial gyrations, and supernatural manifestations, the ruffian kept on his evil way unmoved. I dashed about, and tried hard to make him get excited and worried, but he was as cool as a cucumber, and told me to “keep my hair on”—whatever that might mean. Then, realising the futility of this course, I sped away, faster than thought, to alarm the house.
Squire Smithson was slumbering noisily on his right side as I loomed through the fireplace of his chamber and laid an icy digit upon his brow. He leapt up instantly, but laughed when he saw who it was.
“Hullo, Fatty! Feeling lonely, eh? Don’t worry me, my boy; I’ve got a busy day before me to-morrow. Stick to your own room, and get a rise out of that booby Warren. If you can’t frighten him, you’d better give up the business and go back where you came from.”
Then he turned with his face to the wall, and was asleep again instantly. That is the world all over. You may be breaking your heart about it; but it only laughs, and tells you to mind your own business, and not make a fool of yourself.