“Lummy, ’Orace, you do look upset!” observed Mr. Tridge, in concern.
“He looks real downright bad,” asserted Mr. Lock.
“’E looks ’orrible,” was Mr. Clark’s contribution.
Mr. Dobb, gazing with lack-lustre eyes from one to the other of his old shipmates, shook his head forlornly and gave vent to a sigh of extraordinary duration.
“Why, ’e looks as if ’e’d seen a ghost,” declared Mr. Tridge.
“I ’ave,” said Mr. Dobb; “that’s just what I ’ave seen. A ghost—a real live ghost!”
Mr. Tridge threw a startled glance at the empty tumbler standing before Mr. Dobb.
“No, it ain’t that,” said Mr. Dobb, comprehending. “That is only the third I’ve ’ad all day. It’s a real ghost I’ve seen. A ghost from out of the past,” he ended, with a fugitive gleam of pride in the quality of this phrase.
Mr. Lock, his head a little on one side, speculatively scrutinized this beholder of visions. Mr. Tridge and Mr. Lock stared at each other in a baffled way, and privately intimated a mutual disbelief in the sanity of their friend.
“Boys,” said Mr. Dobb, “she’s ’ere.”