“Julia she sayee you know. She say 'De—De—Develop stock.' That's it. Yes, Develop stock. She sayee you sell Raish Develop stock. She sayee she wantee you to. You do right then.”
The foghorn howled once more. Captain Jethro was standing erect beside his chair. When, at last, he did speak, his tone was still more tense and threatening. Even the shallowest mind in that room—and, as Miss Phipps had said, practically every “crank” within ten miles was present—even the shallowest realized that something was impending, something ominous.
“Do you mean to say,” demanded Jethro Hallett, speaking very slowly, “that Julia's, my wife's spirit is tellin' me to sell my four hundred shares of Wellmouth Development stock to Raish Pulcifer? Do you mean that SHE says that?”
Little Cherry Blossom croaked twice, but the second croak was a feeble “Yes.”
“SHE says that? Julia, my dead wife, tells me to do that?”
“Yes. Yes—yes—yes. She say you sell Raish four hundred Develop stock and you be so gladee. She be gladee, too. She—”
“STOP!”
The light keeper's shout rang through the room. “Stop!” he shouted again. “You—you LIAR!”
The word shot from beneath his teeth and, judging by the effect, might have hit almost every individual in the room. There was absolute silence for just the briefest instant; then a chorus of faint screams, exclamations, startled and indignant protests. Above them all Primmie's call upon her Lord of Isrul sounded plainly. Captain Jethro paid no heed.
“You liar!” he roared again. “Out of my house, you swindler! You damned cheat!”