“And did it—did it knock you down?”
“Come! am I the sort of man to be knocked down by a ghost?” protested Bunter in a little stronger tone. “Don't you remember what you said yourself the other night? Better men than me———Ha! you'll have to look a long time before you find a better man for a mate of your ship.”
Captain Johns pointed a solemn finger at Bunter's bedplace.
“You've been terrified,” he said. “That's what's the matter. You've been terrified. Why, even the man at the wheel was scared, though he couldn't see anything. He felt the supernatural. You are punished for your incredulity, Mr. Bunter. You were terrified.”
“And suppose I was,” said Bunter. “Do you know what I had seen? Can you conceive the sort of ghost that would haunt a man like me? Do you think it was a ladyish, afternoon call, another-cup-of-tea-please apparition that visits your Professor Cranks and that journalist chap you are always talking about? No; I can't tell you what it was like. Every man has his own ghosts. You couldn't conceive...”
Bunter stopped, out of breath; and Captain Johns remarked, with the glow of inward satisfaction reflected in his tone:
“I've always thought you were the sort of man that was ready for anything; from pitch-and-toss to wilful murder, as the saying goes. Well, well! So you were terrified.”
“I stepped back,” said Bunter, curtly. “I don't remember anything else.”
“The man at the wheel told me you went backwards as if something had hit you.”
“It was a sort of inward blow,” explained Bunter. “Something too deep for you, Captain Johns, to understand. Your life and mine haven't been the same. Aren't you satisfied to see me converted?”