"He, he!" said the ghost. "We're quits now. I said I would round on you, old pal! You've got it now." Then straining every agonized nerve to prevent it, the judge's ghost began to jig round the prostrate bishop and snap his fingers and hop lightly over him.
The other members of the family and the servants had collected and were gazing upon the scene: Mrs. Bishop glared at the ghost, uttered the word "Peter!" screamed a piercing scream, and swooned.
They carried the bishop and the bishopess upstairs and sent for a doctor, while the members of the family stood around the judge's ghost, gazing upon him with indignation and repugnance. In a hurried consultation they agreed that it would never do to hand him over to the police, as such a family scandal was not to be thought of.
"Do not loathe me," said the unfortunate spectre; "I am only a ghost!"
"A ghost!" cried the family in chorus; "a nice subterfuge! You expect us to believe that, of course? Go! Let us never see your face again!"
Slowly and with downcast eyes the ghost crept out through the bookcase and rejoined Jemmy and Bill to assist in disposing of the swag. They lavished upon him terms of endearment, and insisted on treating him at every public-house in the neighbourhood: and the sight of that respectably-dressed old gentleman with kid gloves and a short clay pipe surprised the pot-boys. The ghost could not consume the liquor, being too unsubstantial. At short intervals he would retire into a dark corner to beat his breast in remorse and anguish.
Presently Jemmy and Bill, who had been whispering earnestly together, turned respectfully to the spectre; they appeared very nervous, as though afraid to broach some delicate matter which was on their minds.
"Beg parding, boss—I mean my lordship"—began Jemmy, hesitatingly, and fidgeting from one foot to the other; "but we was a-going to ask yer if as how you'd 'ave enny objection——"