“Did you ever hear of any one being afraid of ghosts?” asked the inspector.
“Yes, sir, I believe I have.”
“Well, it seems to me that such people are just as silly and stupid as the sea-lions, who are afraid of bits of fluttering cotton cloth. Doesn’t it to you?”
“Of course it does, sir!” answered the lad, heartily, for John Ryder had taught his son to regard all forms of superstition as the result of combined cowardice and ignorance. “But while I should hate to meet or know any person who is such a coward as to believe in and be afraid of ghosts, I should dearly love to see a herd of sea-lions in a corral of strings. So I think I will go over there to-morrow. I shall have plenty of time, sha’n’t I, Mr. Ramey?”
“Certainly,” replied the lieutenant, “you have still two days and two nights to spend ashore; or, rather, you have two whole days, for the nights here are so short now that they are hardly worth counting.”
“By-the-way, Ramey,” remarked the inspector, “speaking of nights, do you remember the questions you promised to look up for me when you were last here? One was whether sunlight was ever absent from all parts of the United States at once, and the other was, where is the centre of this country between the east and the west?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the lieutenant, “I do and I have looked them up. In summer the sun may always be seen from one part or another of United States territory; for it rises over Eastport, Maine, before it sets on Attu Island. As to the east-and-west centre of the country, it is—”
“Where do you say?” interrupted the inspector, and putting the question to Phil.
“Omaha,” was the prompt reply.