“I wonder what’s in that old mill, anyhow?” ventured Jack.
“It must be something,” declared Blake. “I dare you fellows to come over with me and ‘lay the ghost,’ as they call it.”
“I’ll go!” offered Phil. “It’s a long row, though, and it’s late.”
“The lateness is so much the better,” declared Blake. “Ghosts never perambulate until near midnight, anyhow. How is it—will you fellows go?”
“Not for ours,” declared Charlie Taylor, one of the crowd from the lower camp. “Maybe in the morning we might consider it. Anyhow, this is the closed season for ghosts.”
“You’re afraid!” jeered Blake.
“Now, don’t let’s think of tackling it to-night,” suggested Jack. “I’ll go there to-morrow with any one—or two.”
“You can’t see ghosts in the day-time!” declared Blake, as if he were an authority on spirits.
“Who said we would look for them in daylight,” returned Jack. “We can go to the mill to-morrow afternoon, and wait until it gets dark. We can take our lunch with us.”
“That sounds good,” declared Phil. “I’m in on that.”