“I’ve read stories about ghost houses, but I never thought I’d live in one.”
“There’s no such thing as a ghost,” declared Scoop.
“Of course not,” agreed Tom. “But just the same we had better keep this story from Aunt Polly’s ears. It would make her nervous. And she has plenty of worries as it is. If Pa goes to Washington, she won’t sleep a wink till he gets [[24]]back. She’ll imagine him getting into all kinds of trouble.”
We thought naturally that the mysterious prowler would make further attempts to enter the house. But daybreak came without a single disturbing sound.
At four o’clock Tom awakened his aunt. She readily admitted to the wisdom of getting the talking frog drawings registered in the patent office at Washington; but the thought of sending her absent-minded brother so far from home worried her.
“I just know that something awful will happen to him,” she declared.
But Tom won her over. And then between them they made the dazed inventor understand what was expected of him.
It was daylight when we went with Mr. Ricks to the depot. I was on needles and pins, sort of, expecting any second to have a spy jump out and grab the old gentleman before we could get him on the cars. Therefore I drew a breath of relief when the train pulled out.
But a shock awaited us when we ran up the path to the house.
“He didn’t get the right papers at all,” Aunt Polly cried from the front porch. “His drawings [[25]]are in there on the table. And what he has is a roll of my dress patterns.”