“What did he have on?”

“That’s the queer part.  Not his usual clothes, but that sort of a jersey he wears when he’s doing his exercise.”

“Oh, his gym suit?  You saw it plainly?”

“Not so very plainly—­but—­I felt it!”

“Felt it!  What are you talking about?”

“I did, I tell you.  He leaned over me, and I put out my hand and touched his arm, and I—­I think I felt a tight woolen jersey sleeve.”

“Oh, you think you did!  Well, that’s all right, then, but you mustn’t say you felt a ghost.  They’re not material, you know.”

“You’re making fun of me, Alvord, but you mustn’t.  I know more about these things than you do.  Why shouldn’t I?  I’ve made a study of them—­I’ve read lots of books, and been to lots of seances, and lectures—­oh, I know it was a manifestation of San himself!”

“Well, Aunt Abby, if it gives you any comfort to think it was, why, just keep right on thinking.  I don’t say there aren’t such happenings.  I only say I don’t believe there are.  I don’t doubt your word, you understand, but I can’t make my hard common sense take it in.  My mind isn’t built that way.  Did you hear anything?”

“I heard—­” Aunt Abby paused, and blushed a little—­“you’ll laugh, I know, but I heard—­his watch ticking!”

“Oh, come now, Aunt Abby, that’s a little too much!  I can’t help smiling at that!  For I’m sure ghosts don’t carry watches, and anyway not in a gymnasium suit!”

“I knew you’d jeer at it, but I did hear the ticking, all the same.”

“Wasn’t your own watch under your pillow?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, all right.  I haven’t a word to say.”

“But it wasn’t any watch I heard—­it was a different sort of tick.”

“Yes, of course it was.  Ghosts’ watches have a peculiar tick of their own—­”

“Alvord, stop!  It’s mean of you to poke fun at me!”

“Forgive me, do; I apologize.  It was mean, and I’ll stop.  What else happened?”

“Nothing,” Aunt Abby was clearly piqued.

“Yes, tell me.  What became of the—­the figure?”

“Why, it disappeared.  Gradually you know—­just seemed to float away into nothingness.”

“He gave you no message?”

“Not in words, no.  They rarely do.  But the appearance, the visibility is the usual way of manifestation.  I’m glad it occurred.  Oh, I’m awfully sorry Sanford is dead—­I didn’t mean that but, since he had to go, I’m glad he bade me good-by, as he passed on.”

“Well, I’m glad, too, if it is any comfort to you.  Are you sure Eunice had no such experience?”

“Oh, no—­if she had she’d have told me.  She hates all such ideas.  I suppose if she had seen Sanford—­as I did—­she would have become a believer—­but I’m sure she didn’t.”

“Poor Eunice.  She is terribly broken up.”

“Yes, of course.  They were so devoted.  They had a tiff now and then, but that was because of Eunice’s quick temper.  She flares up so easily,” Aunt Abby sighed.  “San couldn’t manage her at times.”