“Charlie,” she cried; “Charlie."
There was a hollow groan from the cushion in reply.
“What’s the matter?” she cried, in alarm. “What’s the matter?”
“I’ve seen it,” said Mr. Pinner, in trembling tones. “I’ve seen a ghost. I was just peeping out of the winder behind the blind when it went by.”
“Nonsense,” said his wife.
“His ghost,” said Mr. Pinner, regaining a more natural attitude and shivering violently, “red whiskers, white gloves and all. It’s doing a beat up and down this street. I shall go mad. It’s been by twice.”
“’Magination,” said his wife, aghast at this state of affairs.
“I’m afraid of its coming for me,” said Mr. Pinner, staring wildly. “Every minnit I expect to see it come to the door and beckon me to foller it to the station. Every minnit I expect to see it with its white face stuck up agin the winder-pane staring in at me.”
“You mustn’t ’ave such fancies,” said his wife.
“I see it as plain as I see you,” persisted the trembling fireman. “It was prancing up and down in just the same stuck-up way as it did when it was alive.”