Conversation ceased during the remainder of the ride. The silence was broken two or three times by George, who was driving the car as he looked behind him at his companions and laughed aloud. No response was given to his implied invitations to describe their feelings and as they came nearer the end of their journey the chagrin under which all three boys were suffering became still more marked.
At last when they were once more in the house, Fred, unable longer to remain silent, said abruptly, “I know there isn’t anything in the racket at the old Meeker House, but in spite of it all I confess I’m scared when I hear those strange sounds.”
“What are you afraid of?” laughed George.
“I don’t know what I’m afraid of,” said Fred, “but it scares me half out of my wits.”
“There’s something very strange about it,” broke in John. “I don’t believe in spooks and such things, but no one has told us yet what the sound of those flying wings means and they haven’t explained how a fellow can get in there and hear his name called from seven different parts of the house at the same time.”
“What about that horn?” inquired Grant. “That’s the strangest part of it all to me.”
“Do you know,” said Fred, “I’m sure that horn that blows in the old house is the one that used to be on George’s car.”
“No, it can’t be,” said George. “There’s nothing but ghosts in the Meeker House and so it could be only the ghost of that horn if there really is anything there.”
“Well, it isn’t the ghost of a sound,” declared John positively. “It’s a real noise let me tell you and when you hear it as I did to-night, first right close to your ear, and then, a second or two later, sounding as if it came from the attic or the cellar you’re ready to believe almost anything.”
“Too ready, I’m afraid,” laughed George.