(Beldon down R. edge of table R. Leek up R. C. Somers up R.)
George. The ghost. Jer—Bun—
Malcolm. Why, you're frightened, George.
George. Yes, sir. It was the suddenness of it, and besides I didn't look for seeing it in the bar. There was only a glimmer of light there, and it was sitting on the floor. I nearly touched it.
Malcolm (goes to door, looks off, then returns—to others). It must be Hirst up to his tricks. George was out of the room when he suggested it. (To George.) Pull yourself together, man.
George. Yes, sir—but it took me unawares. I'd never have gone to the bar by myself if I'd known it was there, and I don't believe you would, either, sir.
Malcolm. Nonsense, I'll go and fetch him in. (Crosses to L.)
George (clutching him by the sleeve). You don't know what it's like, sir. It ain't fit to look at by yourself, it ain't indeed. It's got the awfullest deathlike face, and short cropped red hair—it's—
(Smothered cry is heard.)
What's that? (Backs to C and leans on chair.)