“‘Yes, Isaac,’ says I; ‘I’ve not seen any myself, but still I believes in them.’
“‘All right,’ says he; ‘I’m going to give you my last dying will and testament by word of mouth, which you’ve got to carry out or be haunted by me whenever the Devil leaves the gate ajar for as much as five minutes.’
“‘Well, Isaac,’ says I, ‘what is it that you want me to do?’
“‘On the first night,’ says he, ‘when they plays on the new cloth and with them new cushions, which I know will be twice too strong for a table of her age, I want you to give them a fright and make them think that I’ve come back.’
“‘Yes, Isaac,’ says I, ‘I’m quite willing to oblige, but how do you want me to do it?’
“‘That I leave to you,’ says he; ‘there’s lots of ways. You can let the rack fall down, or set the balls rolling about, or put gun-caps atop of the lamps. Only, mind this—you’ve got to make them jump, and think it’s me that’s done it; if you don’t, I’ll make you do the jumping.’
“Well, after Isaac was underground I set to thinking how I was to carry out his last will and testament, and I got fairly puzzled. There was lots of ways of making them jump, but I would be dead sure to be found out, and then, not only would I lose my billet, but I’d always think that Isaac was not satisfied, and might come to tell me so, for Isaac was always a man of his word. Then I went to rummage in an old box of his, which he’d said I might have as a keepsake. I came across in it some fine brass wire, like what he’d used for mending cues that got their butts split. All at once an idea came, and I’m quite sure that Isaac put it into my head. So that evening, before I lit the lamps, I tied the one end of the wire, which was that fine you couldn’t hardly see it, to the triangle which lay, full of balls, on the cupboard. The other end I passed along the wall and out through the window where the sash gapes; there I just whipped it round a nail. Then I lit the lamps and sat waiting for the room to fill up. When I thought there were enough in, I sneaked out, pretending that I was going to get my supper. After a bit I just gave the wire a tug, and then bolted round the corner.”
Scarren’s excitement had waxed during the narrative. From force of habit he had taken the straightened-out fish-hook from his pocket, and with it he had punctuated his sentences. I remained silent and lost in thought—marvelling at the fortitude of old Isaac and wishing I knew how to attain to a philosophy such as enabled its possessor to enjoy a prospective and post-mortem practical joke upon his death-bed.
“It was a regular three-star, double-barrelled eighteen-carat scare,” said Scarren, after a pause—“and I know for as good a fact that old Isaac enjoyed it well.”
“What makes you think that?”