"'Spooks!" cried the Gloames, arising in deep resentment.
"I mean shades," apologised Gates. "You do say—"
"Pardon me," interrupted Godfrey, nervously, "but can you tell me what time it is?"
"Ten minutes after twelve, sir." "Oh, we must be going," cried Mrs. Gloame.
"What's the rush?" demanded Gates.
"We cannot stay out after twelve-fifteen, sah. We get an extra fifteen minutes on Christmas Eve, you know," explained Godfrey.
"We are led to believe that you stay out till the cock crows," said Gates.
"Oh, these absurd superstitions," cried Mrs. Gloame merrily. "How ignorant the people are. Are you going my way, Godfrey?"
"Yes, dear, and I care not what the direction may be. Good-night, Mr. Garrison."
"Good-night," added the beautiful Mrs. Gloame, "and a Merry Christmas. I sincerely hope we have not annoyed you."