“Yes; it seems that the man who had died in the hospital that night was a man named Lansom. By one of those mischances which will sometimes happen, there was a confusion through the similarity of the names, and a messenger was sent to Ransom’s friends and Ransom’s address to give information of his death.”
“The mistake wasn’t rectified till after I had left the next day. It was nobody’s business to write to me, and nobody knew where I was, so I didn’t hear of it. Ransom got better, and, when he was well enough to be moved, was sent to Eastbourne. It was Ransom, and not his ghost, that I had seen on the seat. The deathly look of the face was due to the effect of the poison he had taken.”
“And he wasn’t punished?” I said.
“No; the poison was supposed to have been taken accidentally, for nothing came out about his trouble. The young fellow who had got him into it made a clean breast of it to the other fellows, and the students at the College, like the good-hearted fellows they are, in spite of their little failings, made a subscription and paid the man who could have prosecuted all that was due to him.”
“Three cheers for the vets.!” said Harry.
“Quite so,” said Mr. Saxon; “I’ve known a good many in my time, and, take them altogether, a better set of fellows, though a bit noisy now and again, doesn’t exist.”
* * * * *
I’ve been able to finish Mr. Saxon’s story without being interrupted, for a wonder. I shouldn’t have used it here, only it’s a little triumph for me to have got something out of him for my book. He’s got plenty out of other people. I don’t suppose he thought when he was telling it to make Mr. Wilkins’s hair stand up that I was taking it all in to use for my book. He can’t say anything, because it’s the way he’s served other people all his life. Tit for tat, Mr. Saxon—and one to Mary Jane.
CHAPTER VIII.
MRS. CROKER’S “No. 2.”
It was pretty late when we went to bed the night that Mr. Saxon got telling stories, because after everybody had gone he sat on with Harry, and he and the Swedish gentleman didn’t seem to be inclined to go to bed at all, till at last I had to say it was long past twelve o’clock, and we should all lose our beauty sleep, and at last I got them to take their candles and go up to bed.