“And to think,” remarked Herb, “that anybody could just slip along here back of these bushes, and grab our grub without one of us seeing him.”
“Oh! we were all too busy doing our regular stunts to think of such a thing,” explained Jack. “You see, Josh had all he wanted to do with the fire; some of us were putting up the tent the second time; and George had his hands full with his pet hobby, bothering over his engine. Why, it was as easy as falling off a log for him to just crawl up behind these bushes, reach out a hand, and then good-bye to all the fine stuff Josh had laid out so nice.”
“Well, if that don’t beat the Dutch!” exclaimed Josh, staring hard at the stone which bore such an important part in all this discussion, as though he could hardly believe his eyes.
“Look here,” continued Jack, “and you can see where the ground is all rubbed up; that’s where his knees scraped on the surface when he dragged one leg after the other, you know.”
“My! it takes you to get on to these things, Jack!” declared Buster.
Andy had said nothing up to now, but seemed to be just as much puzzled and disturbed as the rest. He managed to put in his oar at about this point, however.
“Musha! they do be sayin’ that this same ould island do be ha’nted; and ’tis me own silf that will be belavin’ the same afther this, so I will!”
“Great governor! he means it was a regular ghost, Jack, d’ye hear that?” cried Buster, throwing up his chubby hands in rank despair.
Everybody seemed interested at once; for, while several of the boys, if asked to their face might have promptly declared they never believed in ghosts; still, it was so very queer, finding some unknown party on the island with the bad name, that they were inclined to listen with interest when Andy aired his views. Ghosts—of course not,—because they were all humbug, anyway; but it was mighty strange how that stuff vanished so mysteriously.
Jack laughed out loud.