“Wait, wait, Mr. Bangs. . . .  Oh, yes, father, I’m coming now. . . .  Mr. Bangs, what do you mean?  What I dread the most?  What I dread—­I think I dread that silly seance next Saturday night more than anything else.  Mr. Bangs, you don’t mean—­”

“Now, now, now, Lulie.  I mustn’t say a word more.  I—­I have said too much, I know.  Just think over the—­ah—­moral, that’s all.  Think it over—­but don’t mention it to any one else, please.  Good-night.  Good-night, Captain Hallett.”

He hurried away.  Lulie stared after him, wonderingly; then she turned and walked slowly and thoughtfully to the door.  Her father regarded her with a troubled expression.

“I dreamed,” he said, slowly, “that Julia come to me and said somethin’ about you.  I don’t seem to recollect just what ’twas she said.  But ‘twas somethin’ about you—­somethin’ about me lookin’ out for you. . . .  Seem’s if,” he added, doubtfully, “as if she said you’d look out for me, but that’s just foolishness and wouldn’t mean nothin’.  It couldn’t be, that couldn’t. . . .  Humph!  Well, come on in.”

The remainder of that week the seance to be held in the light keeper’s cottage on Saturday evening was much talked about.  The devout, including the Beebes, the Hardings and the Blounts were quite excited about it.  The scoffers derided and waxed sarcastic.  Of these scoffers the most outspoken was Horatio Pulcifer.  He declared that the whole fool business made him tired.  Old Cap’n Jeth Hallett must be getting cracked as one of them antique plates.  He wasn’t sure that the selectmen hadn’t ought to stop the thing, a lot of ninnies sitting in a round circle holding hands and pretending to get spirit messages.  Huh!  Just let ’em get a message that proved something, that meant something to somebody, and he’d believe, too, he’d be glad to believe.  But he was from Missouri and they’d got to show him.  With much more to the same effect.

In private, and in the ear of Galusha Bangs, he made a significant remark.

“Go?” he repeated.  “Me go to that seance thing?  Not so you’d notice it, Perfessor.  I’m what they call a wise bird.  I get up early, a consider’ble spell before breakfast.  Um-hm, a consider’ble spell.  Saturday night I’m goin’ to be a long ways from Gould’s Bluffs lighthouse, you bet on that.”

Galusha expressed surprise and gave reasons for that emotion.  Raish winked and nodded.

“Yes, I know,” he said, “but I’m goin’ to have what they call an alibi.  You ain’t been to court much, I presume likely, Perfessor, so you may not be on to what alibi is.  When Bill Alworthy was hauled up for sellin’ without a license we had an alibi for him.  He proved he was fourteen mile away from where he sold the stuff—­ I mean from where they said he sold it—­and it was that what got him off.  Well, on Saturday night I’m goin’ to have an alibi.  I’m goin’ to be settin’ in at a little penny-ante in Elmer Rogers’ back room over to the Centre.  An alibi’s a nice thing to have in the house, Perfessor.  Hey?  Haw, haw, haw!  Yes, sir-ee!  In case there’s any talk they won’t be able to pin much on your Uncle Raish, not much they won’t.”