There was not the slightest sound, yet the boy seemed to feel the breath of moving air on his face.
Too astonished and frightened to move, he sat there while that ceiling marched down over the pattern of a quite futuristic wall-paper.
When at last questions formed themselves in his fear-frozen brain they were, “How far will it come? Will the posts of my bed arrest it? If the bed crashes under the weight, what then?”
While he was revolving these questions in his mind and wondering in a vague sort of way what chance he had of escaping from one of those third story windows, he noted with a start that the ceiling had ceased moving. It was as if its desire to hide great stretches of wall paper had, for the time at least, been satisfied.
The ceiling having settled nine feet or more, Johnny found himself in quite a normal bed chamber. Windows were the proper height, pictures correctly hung and furniture matching it all very well.
He settled back on his bed. It had been a long day. He would just lie there and keep a wary eye on that playful ceiling.
CHAPTER XII
THE WHISPERER RETURNS
On the following morning at dawn the whisper returned to Grace Krowl’s little parlor on Maxwell Street. She had just wakened and lay on her comfortable bed staring at the faint tracings of beautiful forms on her unusual walls, when she heard it.
“A pleasant day to you! Here I am again, talking to you down a beam of light.”
Springing to her feet, she threw on a dressing gown and dashed into her parlor. She would trap the intruder. But she did not. As before, the room was empty.