Life — December 11, 1884 — page 13: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

*- LIFE: sir, of my ancestor, Dr. Gregory Holcombe, who died during the Revolution. Sorry he invaded your room, but bolts are of no avail, and there isn’t a door in the house with a lock on it. Of course, though, a military man like yourself is absolutely fearless. Don't mention the occurrance to the others, if you please, Colonel.” Deep and blood-curdling were the groans that resounded through the North Wing that night, and once or twice the wakeful Colonel thought he heard the clanking of a chain and muffled footsteps in the corridor. About three in the morning, the Judge was aroused by a tremendous rumpus in the next room, which was oc- cupied by Charley and Harry Oliver. Light in hand, he rushed in, and a scene of confusion met his eyes. The tables and chairs were overturned, and stifled cries issued from some one beneath the bed. On stooping down the Judge saw it was Charley Oliver. “ For Heaven's sake, what are you doing under there ?” he asked. “ Has it gone ?” said Oliver. “What? There's nothing here!” “D-did you me-meet it in the hall?” “No,” said the Judge. “‘ Meet what ?” “TI don't know,” replied Oliver, slowly crawling out. “It was white and about ten feet high. Its hands were cold and clammy, and it pulled us both out of bed. I went under there to see if I could n't loosen a bed slat to hit it with.” “Oh, to be sure,” chuckled the Judge. ‘‘ Where's your brother, Harry ?” “T guess he's in the closet looking for his pistol,” replied Charley, and he added, as the Judge left the room: “I don’t see what in thunder you ‘re laughing about !” At breakfast, the Olivers were both very reticent, and the Colonel looked as if he had spent a sleepless night. “Estelle, my dear,” said the Judge, where is your aunt Charlotte—ah, here she comes! Merry Christmas to you, aunt. Now the only absent one is Mr. Trotter. How very late he is!" Aunt Charlotte appeared, muffled in a nubia which was wound around the hood that completely covered the back of her head. She looked very much distressed, and explained that she had severe neuralgic pains. The meal had been almost disposed of in silence, when Mr. Trotter entered the room. With a bland smile he approached his chair, holding aloft a large gray chignon, with two pen- dent cork-screw curls. : “Merry Christmas! Thought I'd bring it down,” he re- marked. “ There was a white robed person in my room last night, who le‘t it on my bureau.” Every one, recognizing the trophy, turned towards Aunt Charlotte, and with a panic-stricken wail the old lady fainted away. The Judge was troubled. He glanced at Estelle with a look that said, Don't you think this has gone far enough? Hadn't I better tell them all, and discharge that impudent Brown ?” but in answer she shook her head in such adecided negative that the old gentleman contented himself with writ- 333 ing to Brown to act at least within the bounds of propriety. He, moreover, urged each man to keep what he had seen an entire secret from the others, but while he was out at the kennels, the Colonel related his own adventure to the rest of the company, and a comparison of experiences was the result. That very evening, as they were all sitting around the fire, Estelle, pleading a headache, left the room, and the Judge saw his long-wished-for opportunity to give Mr. Trotter a téte-d-téte with her. “ Ahem! Don't you think you ‘d better put on a smoking- jacket, before we sit down to our whist, Trotter ?” he sug- gested, and the latter took the hint and followed Estelle. The Judge was well aware of his daughter's distaste for her fat old admirer, but he hoped she would succumb to his ardent declarations of affection and the prospect of forty thousand a year. He almost expected to see the pair enter in a few minutes and ask his paternal blessing. Instead, how- ever, the door burst open, and Trotter alone staggered towards them, evidently completely overcome. “What has happened ?” cried the group. ‘“ Have you seen the ghost 2” Trotter sank into a seat and nodded assent. “Confound that Brown! What infernal mischief has he been up to now ?” exclaimed the Judge. “I might as well confess to you all that the whole matter is a joke. The spec- tre is Brown, the comedian, whom I foolishly hired to act the part, so you can relieve yourselves of any apprehension. Don't mind what you've seen, Trotter—it‘s all a joke, man !" « How I wish it was a joke!” moaned that individual, with his head between his hands. “How I wish it was only Brown, | had seen!" “Good Heavens!" said the Judge, “ Doesn't my confes- sion explain it all? Do you still think that it was anything else than Brown dressed up? There is some mystery in it that I will myself investigate—excuse me, I prefer to go alone!” Prompted by curiosity, however, the entire company deserted Trotter and followed the Judge. They silently tip- toed after his retreating form in the direction of the North Wing; they saw him go cautiously up the stairs, open the door that led into the gallery of the music room, peer down towards its floor, and then stand transfixed with horror. The guests quietly crept in and stood in an awe-struck group behind him. Down in the further corner of the room, the moonbeams poured in through the uncurtained window, imparting to surrounding objects a ghastly whiteness. In the middle of this moonlit space, the ghoulish apparition which had dis- turbed so many of them sat on a small settee, and the Judge's blood ran cold in his veins as he saw his daughter, Estelle, clasped in the spectre’s arms and heard her murmur, “ Oh, Harry, darling, what sha//I do if that ridiculous old Trotter proposes to me this evening? I'll have to tell him that I'm going to be Mrs. Treharne!” Hippen Fruit: the Electric Current. comicbooks.com