“Coleson!” muttered Rogers under his breath. “You don’t suppose—”
“Come on, you fellows!” interrupted Jim Tapley, striking a chord on the piano. “It’s eight o’clock. Let’s tune up and get going!”
The dance was quickly under way, and for several hours the whirl of gaiety continued with nothing more ghostly to offer than the painted balloons and black paper cats. As midnight drew near, the orchestra concluded a peppy fox-trot and made ready to close with the usual wailing syncopation of “Home, Sweet Home.”
“I guess you had your worry for nothing, Ned,” whispered Charlie Rogers. “In fact, the thing has been almost too tame. Don’t you think so?”
“Maybe it has,” began Ned, “but just the same I—”
His words were cut short by a shriek which arose from a group on the porch. Half a dozen frightened girls came plunging in through the doorway, which was instantly jammed with excited people, some making frantic efforts to get inside and away from something, while others struggled in an attempt to get out and see what had happened. For several minutes confusion reigned, but the braver spirits who had been investigating outside soon returned with the report that they could find nothing to cause alarm. Of the group which had been upon the porch, only a few claimed actually to have seen anything, but these were unshaken in their statement that a shadowy figure had appeared at the corner of the house nearest to the woods.
Charlie Rogers and Tommy Beals exchanged a half-frightened glance, suggestive of their belief in this story; but of the dancers, nearly everybody considered it either an hallucination or at most a joke, and as the strains of the final number arose, the dance was resumed and carried to its completion without further interruption. The foremost of the departing crowd had reached the line of parked cars and the rest were streaming out across the porch when their gay chatter was silenced by a sudden cry.
“There it is again! Look! Look! There, by the corner of the house!”
All eyes turned in the direction indicated and saw outlined in the dimness a shadowy figure standing motionless. For perhaps five seconds nobody spoke or moved; then an occupant of one of the automobiles switched on a headlight and the vivid glare disclosed the form of a man with a long white beard who bore upon his shoulder what appeared to be a pickax.
As the blinding light flashed upon it, the apparition threw up an arm as if to shield its eyes, took a step forward, and dropping the pick from its shoulder, struck it into the ground.