“Now it’s up to us,” Bob declared, as he thrust a stick into the stove and drew up his chair.
“Ye’re right me lad,” Tom agreed, as he too sat down. “Sure an’ ye got a fine picture of the ghost but yer can’t take a picture of a yell so ye can’t, bad luck to it.”
For a few minutes there was silence, each being busy with his own thoughts. Then suddenly Bob stood up and, turning his back to Jack, said:
“Jack, will you kindly kick me good and hard where you think it will do the most good?”
“What’s the main idea?” Jack asked in a surprised tone.
“The main idea,” Bob replied, quickly turning around, “is that I’m all kinds of a doughhead. Here I’ve been racking my brains, or rather the place where they ought to be, for hours trying to figure out how the ghost got there without leaving any tracks, and it’s as plain as the nose on your face.”
“Hum—mighty complimentary to Tom and me. Suppose you elucidate, my dear Holmes,” and Jack looked at his brother as though daring him to do his worst.
“I can show you better than I can tell you,” Bob said, as he grabbed up his cap and took a flashlight from the desk. “Come on,” he called, as he threw open the door, and they lost no time in following him.
At either side of the place where the “ghost” had appeared was a large spruce tree. As they reached the spot Bob did not hesitate but, giving a leap, was quickly among the branches of the tree to the right.
“Come up here both of you,” he called a minute later, throwing the light from his flash down to them.