Waking up from my first sleep, a hoarse, croaking sound seemed to come from the casement.
To my half-awakened senses the sound seemed to take form in the words:
"Do you want to be shaved?"
I jumped up and went to the window. The creaking branch of an old pear tree was swaying in the wind and scraping against the sash. This was the origin of the ghostly voice.
"What about those fellows downstairs?" I immediately asked myself, not thinking it fair that I should enjoy all of the fun.
I went to the door and listened. They were still at their cards.
So I dressed myself up in a sheet, took my razor in one hand, and a well-lathered brush in the other, and went downstairs.
Opening the door of the room where the card-players were still eagerly engaged in their game, I looked around. Every eye was fixed on me in terror. Advancing a step into the room, I waved my razor, and said, in a hoarse voice:
"Do you want to be shaved?"