“Not yet they haven’t,” snapped Mrs. Wood; “but I believe his right name is Zebedee Fuller.”
“Nothing very ghostly about Zeb,” said Bar.
“Nor the heifer,” added Val.
Just then there came a pretty good gust of wind through the open window of the dining-room, and the two young conspirators could scarcely avoid a sly glance into each other’s eyes.
It was a very quick flash of a glance, but George Brayton caught it.
He could not guess at its meaning just then, but he stored it away in his memory for future reference, for it meant, as plainly as anything could, “Fun a-coming. Wait and see.”
So he determined to do that very thing, and went on with his supper.
The night promised to be a dark and stormy one by the time the boys had a chance to look out on it. All the more so because the weather seemed disposed to take its own time in getting ready.
The two friends retired to their own room, and Bar astonished Val by actually going to work on his books.
“You’re a queer fellow,” said Val. “Why, I’m all ears.”