Both of us ran for Dorothy’s room. There was a sound of feet and a loud ejaculation of “Holy Peter! The man is dead!”
“It’s comin’,” shouted grandfather, and, sure enough, there were footsteps on the stairs.
“Dorothy! Dorothy!” I screamed. Dorothy, startled from her sleep, came rushing to the entry in her night-dress.
“I have seen a ghost, Dorothy,” said I.
“A what?”
“I have seen the awfullest—”
“It’s comin’,” said grandfather.
“Holy Peter!” said an object in the darkness. “There’s a dead man in the bed!”