Oliver Dixon, who had slipped back to where he could see and hear without being detected, smiled in a satisfied way. He knew where that missing letter was!
Five minutes later all hands were seated at the table, while Ham, with the important look he always wore when presiding over a dinner, bustled about.
When the hot, steaming food was laid before them, Tom was barely able to eat, noting which, Joe wondered, though he was content to wait for the answer.
Oliver Dixon, on the other hand, was in excellent spirits, eating with relish while he chatted brilliantly with his hosts and with Ida Silsbee. Indeed, his companions thought they had never seen the young man to better advantage. Ida was conscious of an increased interest in her suitor.
“Let’s see, Ham,” propounded Henry Tremaine, after a while, “we’re right in the region of your famous ghost, now, aren’t we?”
“Don’ talk erbout dat, sah—please don’t yo’,” begged the negro, glancing uneasily at his employer.
“Why not?” inquired Mr. Tremaine.
“’Cause, sah, talkin’ erbout de Ghost ob Alligator Swamp is jest erbout de same t’ing as ’viting it heah, sah. Ef yo’ speak erbout it, sah, it’s a’most shuah to come heah, sah.”
That Ham Mockus believed what he was saying was but too evident, so kindly Henry Tremaine dropped the subject with a short laugh.
“It was one of the tightest places I was ever in,” declared Oliver Dixon, who was relating an imaginary hunting adventure to Miss Silsbee and Mrs. Tremaine. “I felt buck ague when I saw that animal’s glaring, blazing eyes——”