“Aye, an’ you too, likewise, Mus’ Robert.”
“Thank’ee kindly,” answered the Corporal; “but I’d like to ask you, Mr. Dumbrell, ha’ you ever known a ghost take harm from a pistol-ball fired point-blank?”
“Never, nowise, nohow!” answered Mr. Dumbrell decidedly, “and because why? Because ghostesses be moighty ingenurious things, d’ye see, an’ can’t never be ’urted nowhere an’ nowhen!”
“True for you, gaffer!” quoth Mr. Potter, surveying a soaring lark with an expression of placid and guileless pleasure. “I’ve ’eerd my grandfeäther say as it weren’t no manner o’ good a-shootin’ at a ghost ’cept you ’ad your piece charged wi’ a silver bullet, an’ even then ’twere allus to be expected as your bullet might bounce off the ghost—backwent-like—an’ strike ye wi’ mortal effec’, d’ye see. Good artenoon, sirs!”
“An’ mind this,” added the Ancient One, bony finger a-wag, “it bean’t nowise ’ealthy-loike for no man to go nowheres nohow, nowhere an’ nowhen i’ the dark ’ereabouts—no!”
Hereupon Mr. Potter touched his horse with the whip and away went that likely animal at such pace that the rattling cart and its occupants were very soon out of sight.
“Ha!” quoth Sir John thoughtfully, as they pursued their way towards High Dering. “Hum! The hunting of spectres would seem to be a highly dangerous sport, Bob.”
“Agreed, sir!”
“And yet—notwithstanding—I think, yes—I think we will adventure it one of these nights, Bob.”