“Why, I went over there one day,” explained George, somewhat reluctantly. “It was just at sunset and a terrible thunder shower had come up and I ran to the old Meeker House to get in out of the rain.”
“When did you learn to do that?” broke in Fred.
“I didn’t have to learn,” declared George. “At all events I got inside the house and waited for the storm to pass. But it didn’t pass. When it struck the hills over yonder it was turned back by colder currents of air, so I got the storm coming and going. The first thing I knew the old place was dark and then—”
“And then what?” demanded Grant.
“And then,—things began to happen.”
“What happened?” inquired Grant. “Don’t keep us in this terrible suspense.”
“Well, there wasn’t a breath of air stirring,” explained George, “but the window shutters began to slam a half a dozen times and I heard groans that seemed to come up from the cellar and I was almost sure that once I heard something or somebody call my name.”
“That’s a good one,” laughed John, who in spite of his flippant manner was strongly moved by the story of his friend. “You’re always expecting somebody to call you by name whether they know you or not.”
“Oh, but they know of him,” suggested Fred. “I know of a good many people that I don’t know by sight; for example, there’s the President.”
“Keep still, fellows,” ordered Grant, “and let George tell his story. He was as far as the slamming of the shutters and the groans that came from the cellar and the call which some of the evil spirits made on him by name. Go on, George,” he added, turning to his friend, “tell us what happened next.”