But the Doctor cut him short with: "Come now, you've done your stunt. No more stories to-night. Off to bed. You and I are going to take a run to Paris to-morrow."
"What for?"
"Tell you to-morrow."
As every one began to move toward the house, the Violinist remarked, "I was thinking of running up to Paris myself to-morrow. Any one else want to go with me?" The Journalist said that he did, and the party broke up. As they strolled toward the house the Lawyer was heard asking the Youngster, "What were the steps in the corridor?"
"Well," replied the Youngster, "I suppose on the night that the team came home there must have been great excitement in the house—every one running to and fro and—"
But the Journalist's shout of laughter stopped him.
The Youngster eyed him with shocked surprise.
"By Jupiter!" cried the Journalist. "That is the darnedest ghost story I ever heard. Everything and everybody walked but the dead man—even the carriage."
"That isn't my fault," said the Youngster, indignantly.