“Who told you that was my pipe?” asked Godfrey.
“My intuition.”
“Yer what?”
“My instinct.”
Godfrey looked more bewildered than ever. “Ye mean that the haunt told ye, don’t ye?” said he.
“The haunt!” repeated Clarence. “What’s that?”
“Why, the sperrit; the—the—ole Jordan’s ghost. He was thar, kase I seed him. Whar was you, Mr. Clarence?”
“I was in the house, where all honest folks were at that time of the night. Did you say you saw a ghost?”
“I did say so, an’ I done seed it, too.”
“What did it look like?”