“Yes! yes! Answer me quickly! You are—you must be a ghost! I saw you in my dreams last week!”
“I don't understand you,” said Joe, and arose slowly to his feet, at which Bill Butts did likewise and began to retreat. “I never met you before.”
“No? It's queer.” The man brushed his hand over his forehead. “Yes, I must be dreaming. But I am glad I got my gold back.”
“So am I, but the rascal has run away.”
“Never mind, let him go.”
“What makes you think you've seen me before?” questioned Joe, and his breath came thick and fast.
“I—er—I don't know. You mustn't mind me—I have queer spells at times. You see, I had a whole lot of trouble once, and when I get to thinking about it—” The man did not finish.
“May I ask your name?” asked Joe, and his voice trembled in spite of his efforts at self-control.
“Sure you can. It's Bill Bodley.”
“William A. Bodley?”