"No. Do you?"
"Hardly, although I have heard some queer stories. My aunt used to think she had seen ghosts."
"She was mistaken," said Tom. "There are no real ghosts."
"Say, Tom, how could a ghost be real and still be a ghost?" asked
Songbird and this question brought forth a general laugh.
The boys sat down on a bench in the warm sunshine to discuss the proposed visit to the deserted Jamison place, and it was arranged that they should drive to the spot in a two-seated carriage. Then, while the Rovers and Stanley investigated to their hearts' content, Songbird was to drive on to the Sanderson home for a brief visit.
"But, mind, you are not to stay too long," said Dick. "An hour is the limit."
"I'll make it an hour by the watch," answered the would-be poet. "Say,
I just thought of something," he went on, and murmured softly:
"To-morrow, ere the hour is late,
We shall go forth to investigate.
The Jamison ghost
Shall be our host;
We trust we'll meet a kindly fate!"
"That's as cheerful as a funeral dirge!" cried Tom.
"We don't want to meet any kind of a fate," added Sam. "We want to have some fun."