“A—a galloping ghost!” Johnny exclaimed, as he bent over his companion. “Are you hurt?”
“No—not much.” Howe was coming round. “Hardly at all. But, man! Oh, man! What hard knuckles that ghost has!”
“What’s this? A ghost?” Once more a new voice broke in upon them.
Johnny looked up, then scowled. He had recognized the voice of a reporter from the city’s pink journal. He hated the paper and disliked this reporter. But when one speaks of a ghost he needs must explain.
Explain he did, and that with the least possible number of words.
“A ghost! A galloping ghost on the scene of a kidnaping that is sure to cause a nation-wide search! What a scoop!” The reporter was away even before Johnny had completed his meager description.
“A galloping ghost.” Johnny pronounced the words slowly as Howe, now quite recovered, stood up beside him, then scowled. “What do you make of that?”
“Not a thing,” Howe answered bluntly. “But, after all, the real question is, is this ghost for us or against us?”
“Do ghosts always take sides?”
“Oh, inevitably!” Howe laughed a short cackling laugh that went far toward relieving the tension of the moment.