"It was in your intherest, sorr," said he, impressively.
"And you saw what?" I queried, growing very impatient.
"What I hope niver to see again, sorr," said Barney, compressing his lips solemnly. "Six impty chairs, sorr, wid six segyars as hoigh up from the flure as a man's mout', puffin' and a-blowin' out shmoke loike a chimbley! An' ivery oncet in a whoile the segyars would go down kind of an' be tapped loike as if wid a finger of a shmoker, and the ashes would fall off onto the flure!"
"Well?" said I. "Go on. What next?"
"I wanted to run awaa, sorr, but I shtood rutted to the shpot wid th' surproise I had on me, until foinally ivery segyar was burnt to a shtub and trun into the foireplace, where I found 'em the nixt mornin' when I came to clane up, provin' ut wasn't ony dhrame I'd been havin'."
I arose from my chair and paced the room for two or three minutes, wondering what I could say. Of course the man was lying, I thought. Then I pulled myself together.
"Barney," I said, severely, "what's the use? Do you expect me to believe any such cock-and-bull story as that?"
"No, sorr," said he. "But thim's the facts."
"Do you mean to say that this house of mine is haunted?" I cried.
[Illustration: "'SIX IMPTY CHAIRS, SORR'">[