Eliphalet did not get a wink of sleep, neither did his friend. On the
second night the house ghost was seen by the officer; on the third
night it showed itself again; and the next morning the officer packed
his grip-sack and took the first train to Boston. He was a New Yorker,
but he said he'd sooner go to Boston than see that ghost again.
Eliphalet, he wasn't scared at all, partly because he never saw either
the domiciliary or the titular spook, and partly because he felt
himself on friendly terms with the spirit world, and didn't scare
easily. But after losing three nights' sleep and the society of his
friend, he began to be a little impatient, and to think that the thing
had gone far enough. You see, while in a way he was fond of ghosts, yet
he liked them best one at a time. Two ghosts were one too many. He
wasn't bent on making a collection of spooks. He and one ghost were
company, but he and two ghosts were a crowd."
"What did he do?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer.
"Well, he couldn't do anything. He waited awhile, hoping they would get
tired; but he got tired out first. You see, it comes natural to a spook
to sleep in the daytime, but a man wants to sleep nights, and they
wouldn't let him sleep nights. They kept on wrangling and quarreling
incessantly; they manifested and they dark-seanced as regularly as the
old clock on the stairs struck twelve; they rapped and they rang bells
and they banged the tambourine and they threw the flaming banjo about
the house, and worse than all, they swore."
"I did not know that spirits were addicted to bad language," said the
Duchess.
"How did he know they were swearing? Could he hear them?" asked Dear
Jones.
"That was just it," responded Uncle Larry; "he could not hear them--at
least not distinctly. There were inarticulate murmurs and stifled
rumblings. But the impression produced on him was that they were
swearing. If they had only sworn right out, he would not have minded it
so much, because he would have known the worst. But the feeling that
the air was full of suppressed profanity was very wearing and after
standing it for a week, he gave up in disgust and went to the White
Mountains."
"Leaving them to fight it out, I suppose," interjected Baby Van
Rensselaer.
"Not at all," explained Uncle Larry. "They could not quarrel unless he
was present. You see, he could not leave the titular ghost behind him,
and the domiciliary ghost could not leave the house. When he went away
he took the family ghost with him leaving the house ghost behind. Now
spooks can't quarrel when they are a hundred miles apart any more than
men can."
"And what happened afterward?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer, with a pretty
impatience.
"A most marvelous thing happened. Eliphalet Duncan went to the White
Mountains, and in the car of the railroad that runs to the top of Mount
Washington he met a classmate whom he had not seen for years, and this
classmate introduced Duncan to his sister, and this sister was a
remarkably pretty girl, and Duncan fell in love with her at first
sight, and by the time he got to the top of Mount Washington he was so
deep in love that he began to consider his own unworthiness, and to
wonder whether she might ever be induced to care for him a little--ever
so little."
"I don't think that is so marvelous a thing," said Dear Jones glancing
at Baby Van Rensselaer.
"Who was she?" asked the Duchess, who had once lived in Philadelphia.
"She was Miss Kitty Sutton, of San Francisco, and she was a daughter of
old Judge Sutton, of the firm of Pixley and Sutton."
"A very respectable family," assented the Duchess.
"I hope she wasn't a daughter of that loud and vulgar old Mrs. Sutton
whom I met at Saratoga, one summer, four or five years ago?" said Dear
Jones.
"Probably she was."
"She was a horrid old woman. The boys used to call her Mother Gorgon."
"The pretty Kitty Sutton with whom Eliphalet Duncan had fallen in love
was the daughter of Mother Gorgon. But he never saw the mother, who was
in 'Frisco, or Los Angeles, or Santa Fe, or somewhere out West, and he
saw a great deal of the daughter, who was up in the White Mountains.
She was traveling with her brother and his wife, and as they journeyed
from hotel to hotel, Duncan went with them, and filled out the
quartette. Before the end of the summer he began to think about
proposing. Of course he had lots of chances, going on excursions as
they were every day. He made up his mind to seize the first
opportunity, and that very evening he took her out for a moonlight row
on Lake Winnipiseogee. As he handed her into the boat he resolved to do
it, and he had a glimmer of a suspicion that she knew he was going to
do it, too."
"Girls," said Dear Jones, "never go out in a row-boat at night with a
young man unless you mean to accept him."
"Sometimes it's best to refuse him, and get it over once for all," said
Baby Van Rensselaer.
"As Eliphalet took the oars he felt a sudden chill. He tried to shake
it off, but in vain. He began to have a growing consciousness of
impending evil. Before he had taken ten strokes--and he was a swift
oarsman--he was aware of a mysterious presence between him and Miss
Sutton."
"Was it the guardian-angel ghost warning him off the match?"
interrupted Dear Jones.
"That's just what it was," said Uncle Larry. "And he yielded to it, and
kept his peace, and rowed Miss Sutton back to the hotel with his
proposal unspoken."
"More fool he," said Dear Jones. "It will take more than one ghost to
keep me from proposing when my mind is made up." And he looked at Baby
Van Rensselaer.
"The next morning," continued Uncle Larry, "Eliphalet overslept
himself, and when he went down to a late breakfast he found that the
Suttons had gone to New York by the morning train. He wanted to follow
them at once, and again he felt the mysterious presence overpowering
his will. He struggled two days, and at last he roused himself to do
what he wanted in spite of the spook. When he arrived in New York it
was late in the evening. He dressed himself hastily and went to the
hotel where the Suttons put up, in the hope of seeing at least her
brother. The guardian angel fought every inch of the walk with him,
until he began to wonder whether, if Miss Sutton were to take him, the
spook would forbid the banns. At the hotel he saw no one that night,
and he went home determined to call as early as he could the next
afternoon, and make an end of it. When he left his office about two
o'clock the next day to learn his fate, he had not walked five blocks
before he discovered that the wraith of the Duncans had withdrawn his
opposition to the suit. There was no feeling of impending evil, no
resistance, no struggle, no consciousness of an opposing presence.
Eliphalet was greatly encouraged. He walked briskly to the hotel; he
found Miss Sutton alone. He asked her the question, and got his
answer."
"She accepted him, of course," said Baby Van Rensselaer.
"Of course," said Uncle Larry. "And while they were in the first flush
of joy, swapping confidences and confessions, her brother came into the
parlour with an expression of pain on his face and a telegram in
his Frisco hand. The former was caused by the latter, which was from
'Frisco, and which announced the sudden death of Mrs. Sutton, their
mother."
"And that was why the ghost no longer opposed the match?" questioned
Dear Jones.
"Exactly. You see, the family ghost knew that Mother Gorgon was an
awful obstacle to Duncan's happiness, so it warned him. But the moment
the obstacle was removed, it gave its consent at once."
The fog was lowering its thick damp curtain, and it was beginning to be
difficult to see from one end of the boat to the other. Dear Jones
tightened the rug which enwrapped Baby Van Rensselaer, and then
withdrew again into his own substantial coverings.
Uncle Larry paused in his story long enough to light another of the
tiny cigars he always smoked.
"I infer that Lord Duncan"--the Duchess was scrupulous in the bestowal
of titles--"saw no more of the ghosts after he was married."
"He never saw them at all, at any time, either before or since. But
they came very near breaking off the match, and thus breaking two young
hearts."
"You don't mean to say that they knew any just cause or impediment why
they should not forever after hold their peace?" asked Dear Jones.
"How could a ghost, or even two ghosts, keep a girl from marrying the
man she loved?" This was Baby Van Rensselaer's question.
"It seems curious, doesn't it?" and Uncle Larry tried to warm himself
by two or three sharp pulls at his fiery little cigar. "And the
circumstances are quite as curious as the fact itself. You see, Miss
Sutton wouldn't be married for a year after her mother's death, so she
and Duncan had lots of time to tell each other all they knew.
Eliphalet, he got to know a good deal about the girls she went to
school with, and Kitty, she learned all about his family. He didn't
tell her about the title for a long time, as he wasn't one to brag. But
he described to her the little old house at Salem. And one evening
toward the end of the summer, the wedding-day having been appointed for
early in September, she told him that she didn't want to bridal tour at
all; she just wanted to go down to the little old house at Salem to
spend her honeymoon in peace and quiet, with nothing to do and nobody
to bother them. Well, Eliphalet jumped at the suggestion. It suited him
down to the ground. All of a sudden he remembered the spooks, and it
knocked him all of a heap. He had told her about the Duncan Banshee,
and the idea of having an ancestral ghost in personal attendance on her
husband tickled her immensely. But he had never said anything about the
ghost which haunted the little old house at Salem. He knew she would be
frightened out of her wits if the house ghost revealed itself to her,
and he saw at once that it would be impossible to go to Salem on their
wedding trip. So he told her all about it, and how whenever he went to
Salem the two ghosts interfered, and gave dark seances and manifested
and materialised and made the place absolutely impossible. Kitty, she
listened in silence, and Eliphalet, he thought she had changed her
mind. But she hadn't done anything of the kind."
"Just like a man--to think she was going to," remarked Baby Van
Rensselaer.
"She just told him she could not bear ghosts herself, but she would not
marry a man who was afraid of them."
"Just like a girl--to be so inconsistent," remarked Dear Jones.
Uncle Larry's tiny cigar had long been extinct. He lighted a new one,
and continued: "Eliphalet protested in vain. Kitty said her mind was
made up. She was determined to pass her honeymoon in the little old
house at Salem, and she was equally determined not to go there as long
as there were any ghosts there. Until he could assure her that the
spectral tenants had received notice to quit, and that there was no
danger of manifestations and materialising, she refused to be married
at all. She did not intend to have her honeymoon interrupted by two
wrangling ghosts, and the wedding could be postponed until he had made
ready the house for her."
"She was an unreasonable young woman," said the Duchess.
"Well, that's what Eliphalet thought, much as he was in love with her.
And he believed he could talk her out of her determination. But he
couldn't. She was set. And when a girl is set, there's nothing to do
but yield to the inevitable. And that's just what Eliphalet did. He saw
he would either have to give her up or to get the ghosts out; and as he
loved her and did not care for the ghosts, he resolved to tackle the
ghosts. He had clear grit, Eliphalet had--he was half Scotch and half
Yankee, and neither breed turns tail in a hurry. So he made his plans
and he went down to Salem. As he said good-bye to Kitty he had an
impression that she was sorry she had made him go, but she kept up
bravely, and put a bold face on it, and saw him off, and went home and
cried for an hour, and was perfectly miserable until he came back the
next day."
"Did he succeed in driving the ghosts away?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer,
with great interest.
"That's just what I'm coming to," said Uncle Larry, pausing at the
critical moment, in the manner of the trained story teller. "You see,
Eliphalet had got a rather tough job, and he would gladly have had an
extension of time on the contract, but he had to choose between the
girl and the ghosts, and he wanted the girl. He tried to invent or
remember some short and easy way with ghosts, but he couldn't. He
wished that somebody had invented a specific for spooks--something that
would make the ghosts come out of the house and die in the yard."
"What did he do?" interrupted Dear Jones. "The learned counsel will
please speak to the point."
"You will regret this unseemly haste," said Uncle Larry, gravely, "when
you know what really happened."
"What was it, Uncle Larry?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer. "I'm all
impatience."
And Uncle Larry proceeded:
"Eliphalet went down to the little old house at Salem, and as soon as
the clock struck twelve the rival ghosts began wrangling as before.
Raps here, there, and everywhere, ringing bells, banging tambourines,
strumming banjos sailing about the room, and all the other
manifestations and materializations followed one another just as they
had the summer before. The only difference Eliphalet could detect was a
stronger flavour in the spectral profanity; and this, of course, was
only a vague impression, for he did not actually hear a single word. He
waited awhile in patience, listening and watching. Of course he never
saw either of the ghosts, because neither of them could appear to him.
At last he got his dander up, and he thought it was about time to
interfere, so he rapped on the table, and asked for silence. As soon as
he felt that the spooks were listening to him he explained the
situation to them. He told them he was in love, and that he could not
marry unless they vacated the house. He appealed to them as old
friends, and he laid claim to their gratitude. The titular ghost had
been sheltered by the Duncan family for hundreds of years, and the
domiciliary ghost had had free lodging in the little old house at Salem
for nearly two centuries. He implored them to settle their differences,
and to get him out of his difficulty at once. He suggested they'd
better fight it out then and there, and see who was master. He had
brought down with him the needful weapons. And he pulled out his
valise, and spread on the table a pair of navy revolvers, a pair of
shot-guns, a pair of duelling swords, and a couple of bowie-knives. He
offered to serve as second for both parties, and to give the word when
to begin. He also took out of his valise a pack of cards and a bottle
of poison, telling them that if they wished to avoid carnage they might
cut the cards to see which one should take the poison. Then he waited
anxiously for their reply. For a little space there was silence. Then
he became conscious of a tremulous shivering in one corner of the room,
and he remembered that he had heard from that direction what sounded
like a frightened sigh when he made the first suggestion of the duel.
Something told him that this was the domiciliary ghost, and that it was
badly scared. Then he was impressed by a certain movement in the
opposite corner of the room, as though the titular ghost were drawing
himself up with offended dignity. Eliphalet couldn't exactly see these
things, because he never saw the ghosts, but he felt them. After a
silence of nearly a minute a voice came from the corner where the
family ghost stood--a voice strong and full, but trembling slightly
with suppressed passion. And this voice told Eliphalet it was plain
enough that he had not long been the head of the Duncans, and that he
had never properly considered the characteristics of his race if now he
supposed that one of his blood could draw his sword against a woman.
Eliphalet said he had never suggested that the Duncan ghost should
raise his hand against a woman and all he wanted was that the Duncan
ghost should fight the other ghost. And then the voice told Eliphalet
that the other ghost was a woman."
"What?" said Dear Jones, sitting up suddenly. "You don't mean to tell
me that the ghost which haunted the house was a woman?"
"Those were the very words Eliphalet Duncan used," said Uncle Larry;
"but he did not need to wait for the answer. All at once he recalled
the traditions about the domiciliary ghost, and he knew that what the
titular ghost said was the fact. He had never thought of the sex of a
spook, but there was no doubt whatever that the house ghost was a
woman. No sooner was this firmly fixed in Eliphalet's mind than he saw
his way out of the difficulty. The ghosts must be married!--for then
there would be no more interference, no more quarrelling, no more
manifestations and materializations, no more dark seances, with their
raps and bells and tambourines and banjos. At first the ghosts would
not hear of it. The voice in the corner declared that the Duncan wraith
had never thought of matrimony. But Eliphalet argued with them, and
pleaded and persuaded and coaxed, and dwelt on the advantages of
matrimony. He had to confess, of course, that he did not know how to
get a clergyman to marry them; but the voice from the corner gravely
told him that there need be no difficulty in regard to that, as there
was no lack of spiritual chaplains. Then, for the first time, the house
ghost spoke, in a low, clear gentle voice, and with a quaint,
old-fashioned New England accent, which contrasted sharply with the
broad Scotch speech of the family ghost. She said that Eliphalet Duncan
seemed to have forgotten that she was married. But this did not upset
Eliphalet at all; he remembered the whole case clearly and he told her
she was not a married ghost, but a widow, since her husband had been
hung for murdering her. Then the Duncan ghost drew attention to the
great disparity of their ages, saying that he was nearly four hundred
and fifty years old, while she was barely two hundred. But Eliphalet
had not talked to juries for nothing; he just buckled to, and coaxed
those ghosts into matrimony. Afterward he came to the conclusion that
they were willing to be coaxed, but at the time he thought he had
pretty hard work to convince them of the advantages of the plan."
"Did he succeed?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer, with a young lady's
interest in matrimony.
"He did," said Uncle Larry. "He talked the wraith of the Duncans and
the spectre of the little old house at Salem into a matrimonial
engagement. And from the time they were engaged he had no more trouble
with them. They were rival ghosts no longer. They were married by their
spiritual chaplain the very same day that Eliphalet Duncan met Kitty
Sutton in front of the railing of Grace Church. The ghostly bride and
bridegroom went away at once on their bridal tour, and Lord and Lady
Duncan went down to the little old house at Salem to pass their
honeymoon."
Uncle Larry stopped. His tiny cigar was out again. The tale of the
rival ghosts was told. A solemn silence fell on the little party on the
deck of the ocean steamer, broken harshly by the hoarse roar of the
fog-horn.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Masterpieces of Mystery In Four Volumes, by Various