Not one of the Grammar School boys had any desire to go to bed at that time, save Hen, who wouldn't dare to be anywhere else. In fact, the Dutcher youngster may have wondered whether he could stand on his feet if he slipped out and into his clothes.
One by one the boys found seats. Dan picked up the air rifle and sat with it across his lap.
"Whoever it is that's doing this trick has surely got us going," laughed Dick uneasily.
"He has," affirmed Dave. "I don't believe in ghosts, but, under the circumstances, this thing that's annoying us is more than some creepy. If we could explain it I don't believe we'd let it worry us any. But I suppose human beings are always most afraid of what they cannot understand."
The wailings came at less frequent intervals now, though they continued to be sufficiently awesome. But when the clock showed two minutes before the hour of one in the morning these words came in a blast:
"The hou-ou-our of de-eath is at hand. The Gr-r-rim Rea-eaper is at the doo-oor!"
"Then please, please, please—GO AWAY!" screamed Hen, his teeth clacking a bone solo.