"What time did the spectre appear last night?" said Tom Weston, who saw that mischief was brewing, and was anxious to turn the subject into another channel. "I should like amazingly to see it."
"That's all bosh!" said Bob. "You would soon cut and run. But if you are in earnest, come with me to the cross-road, and I promise to introduce you to the old gentleman. The clock has just struck eleven, he will be taking his rounds by the time we get there."
The young man drew back. "Not in your company, Mason. It would be enough to raise the Devil."
"Well, please yourself. I knew you would not have pluck enough. I shall go, however. I want to have a few minutes' conversation with the ghost before he appears in public. Perhaps he will show me where to find a hidden treasure. Good-by, mother; shall I give your compliments to the old gentleman? Love, I know, is out of the question. You had none to spare for him when he was alive."
"Away with you, for a blasphemous reprobate that you are!" cried the angry old woman, shaking her crutch at him.
"Mammy's own darling son!" cried the disgusting wretch, as with a loud oath he sprang through the open door and vanished into the dark night.
The men looked significantly at each other, and a little tailor rose cautiously and shut the door.
"Why do you do that?" said Tom Weston.
"To keep out bad company."
"It is stifling hot!" cried Tom, kicking it open with his foot. "I shall die without a whiff of fresh air."