“Quit it!” cried Carl. “I’ve got the creeps running up and down my back right now! Bring me my haunted temples by daylight!”
“Yes,” scorned Jimmie, “we’ll bring you a little pet ghost in a suit-case. That would be about your size!”
“Honest,” grinned the boy, “I’m scared half to death.”
“What’s the specialty of the ghosts who inhabit this ruined temple?” asked Jimmie. “Can’t you give us some idea of their antics?”
“If I remember correctly,” Sam replied, with a laugh, “the specialty of the spirits to whom I am about to introduce you consists of low, soft music. How does that suit?”
“I tell you to quit it!” cried Carl.
“After I prepare the aeroplane for another run,” Sam went on, with a grin, “I’ll take you around to the temple, if you like.”
“Mother of Moses!” cried Carl. “My hair’s all on end now; and I won’t dare look into a mirror in the morning for fear I’ll find it turned white.”
“There’s a strange feeling in my system, too!” Jimmie declared, “but I think it comes from a lack of sustenance.”
“Jimmie,” declared Carl reproachfully, “I believe you would pick the pocket of a wailing ghost of a ham sandwich, if he had such a thing about him!”