“Oh, probably a hundred, by this time!” declared Dick Somers, disgustedly. “I suppose Sam felt so important that he bragged of the thing all over town!”
But in this, Dick did the honest negro an injustice, for in spite of swelling pride which threatened him with suffocation, Sam had kept his secret faithfully. To his simple mind it thus appeared that the ghost of Eli Coleson must know his inmost thoughts and secret acts, and this idea had, as Tommy Beals expressed it, almost scared the daylights out of him.
“If we had the seventy-five dollars to plank down right now as advance payment in full for the lease, Sam might find it hard to cancel it,” suggested Jim Tapley.
“We’ll have the cash after the dance Saturday night,” declared Dick. “We’ll have to find some way to keep Sam away from the town hall till Monday—even if we have to kidnap him!”
“Suppose some of us have a talk with Sam and try to convince him that he is being made the butt of a joke,” suggested Ned.
“Well, it’s worth a try,” agreed Beals. “I’ll go with you right now,” and the two emissaries left the garage in a hurry.
CHAPTER XI
THE LIGHT ON THE WALL
Ned Blake and Tommy Beals found Sam slumped on a bench in the Beals garden, staring moodily at a long row of unweeded carrots.
“Nozzur, I ain’t gwine ter have no doin’s with dead folks—not any!” muttered the negro, when Ned and Tommy had broached the subject of their visit.
“But how do you know that Eli Coleson is dead?” argued Ned. “This letter was written on a typewriter and if it is really from Eli, why it proves that he isn’t dead, doesn’t it?”