Ham Mockus was glad enough to see them back. He was hanging about at the land end of the pier. Though the black man’s faith in ghosts had received a severe knock, still, to be all alone about the place after dark—well, it was a bit fearsome, anyway!
“Have any ghosts called, Ham?” laughingly demanded Henry Tremaine, as he caught sight of his black servitor.
“No, sah; no, sah,” admitted the darkey, grinning sheepishly.
“Then the officers must have succeeded in keeping all the members of the ghost safely locked up in jail.”
“Ah reckon so, sah—unless——”
“Wy, sah, it jest might be, ob co’se, dat some restless fo’ks done take dem Eberglades trash out an’ hitch ’em to a tree, wid deir feet off en de groun’.”
“Oh, I guess it could not be as bad as that,” smiled Mr. Tremaine.
“What have you been doing all these hours, Ham?” inquired Mrs. Tremaine.
“Wy, Ah done ’low, ob co’se, dat maybe yo’ don’ feel much satisfied wid dat cold food yo’ done had erlong in de bo’t, so Ah’s done got some hot food up at de house—ef yo’ want it.”