As soon as my uncle had finished his story, I, as I have already
told you, rose up and said that _I_ would sleep in the Blue Chamber
that very night.
"Never!" cried my uncle, springing up. "You shall not put yourself
in this deadly peril. Besides, the bed is not made."
"Never mind the bed," I replied. "I have lived in furnished
apartments for gentlemen, and have been accustomed to sleep on beds
that have never been made from one year's end to the other. Do not
thwart me in my resolve. I am young, and have had a clear
conscience now for over a month. The spirits will not harm me. I
may even do them some little good, and induce them to be quiet and
go away. Besides, I should like to see the show."
Saying which, I sat down again. (How Mr. Coombes came to be in my
chair, instead of at the other side of the room, where he had been
all the evening; and why he never offered to apologise when I sat
right down on top of him; and why young Biffles should have tried
to palm himself off upon me as my Uncle John, and induced me, under
that erroneous impression, to shake him by the hand for nearly
three minutes, and tell him that I had always regarded him as
father,--are matters that, to this day, I have never been able to
fully understand.)
They tried to dissuade me from what they termed my foolhardy
enterprise, but I remained firm, and claimed my privilege. I was
'the guest.' 'The guest' always sleeps in the haunted chamber on
Christmas Eve; it is his perquisite.
They said that if I put it on that footing, they had, of course, no
answer; and they lighted a candle for me, and accompanied me
upstairs in a body.
Whether elevated by the feeling that I was doing a noble action, or
animated by a mere general consciousness of rectitude, is not for
me to say, but I went upstairs that night with remarkable buoyancy.
It was as much as I could do to stop at the landing when I came to
it; I felt I wanted to go on up to the roof. But, with the help of
the banisters, I restrained my ambition, wished them all good-
night, and went in and shut the door.
Things began to go wrong with me from the very first. The candle
tumbled out of the candlestick before my hand was off the lock. It
kept on tumbling out of the candlestick, and every time I picked
put it up and put it in, it tumbled out again: I never saw such a
slippery candle. I gave up attempting to use the candlestick at
last, and carried the candle about in my hand; and, even then, it
would not keep upright. So I got wild and threw it out of window,
and undressed and went to bed in the dark.
I did not go to sleep,--I did not feel sleepy at all,--I lay on my
back, looking up at the ceiling, and thinking of things. I wish I
could remember some of the ideas that came to me as I lay there,
because they were so amusing. I laughed at them myself till the
bed shook.
I had been lying like this for half an hour or so, and had
forgotten all about the ghost, when, on casually casting my eyes
round the room, I noticed for the first time a singularly
contented-looking phantom, sitting in the easy-chair by the fire,
smoking the ghost of a long clay pipe.
I fancied for the moment, as most people would under similar
circumstances, that I must be dreaming. I sat up, and rubbed my
eyes.
No! It was a ghost, clear enough. I could see the back of the
chair through his body. He looked over towards me, took the
shadowy pipe from his lips, and nodded.
The most surprising part of the whole thing to me was that I did
not feel in the least alarmed. If anything, I was rather pleased
to see him. It was company.