Straining his eyes in the direction whence the voice had seemed to come, Parley endeavored to ascertain who had spoken, but all was as it had been before. There was no one in sight, and the freshman settled back again in his chair.
"Humph!" he ejaculated. "Guess I must have fallen asleep and dreamed it."
"Not a bit of it," interposed the voice again. "I'm over here in the arm-chair."
Parley sprang to his feet and grabbed up his "banger," as the big cane he had managed to hold to the bitter end in the rush of cherished memory was called.
"Oh, you are, are you?" he cried, controlling his fear with great difficulty; and his voice would hardly come, his throat and lips had become so dry from nervousness. "And, pray, how the deuce did you get in?" he demanded, peering over into the arm-chair's capacious depths—still seeing nothing, however.
"Oh, the usual way," replied the voice—"through the door."
"That's not so," retorted Parley. "Both doors are locked, so you couldn't. Why don't you come out like a man where I can see you, and tell the truth, if you know how?"
"Can't," said the other—"that is, I can't come out like a man."
"Ah!" sneered Parley. "What are you then—a purple cow?"
"I don't know what a purple cow is," replied the voice, in sepulchral tones. "I never saw one. They didn't have 'em in my day, only plain brown ones—cows of the primary colors."