Sailor's Knots (Entire Collection)

“Well, so long,” ses Charlie at last. “Take care o’ my little prize packet.”

“You can come, too, if you like,” ses Emma. “Father said I was to bring you. Don’t ‘ave none of your nonsense there, that’s all.”

Charlie thanked ‘er, and they was all walking along, him and Mrs. Jennings behind, when Emma looked over ‘er shoulder.

“Sophy’s young man is coming,” she ses.

“Ho!” ses Charlie. He walked along doing a bit o’ thinking, and by and by ‘e gives a little laugh, and he ses, “I—I don’t think p’r’aps I’ll come arter all.”

“Afraid?” ses Emma, with a nasty laugh.

“No,” ses Charlie.

“Well, it looks like it,” ses Emma.

“He’s brave enough where wimmen are concerned,” ses Mrs. Jennings.

“I was thinking of you,” ses Charlie.

“You needn’t trouble about me,” ses Mrs. Jennings. “I can look after myself, thank you.”

Charlie looked round, but there was no help for it. He got as far away from Mrs. Jennings as possible, and when they got to Emma’s house he went in last.

Emma’s father and mother was there and two or three of ‘er brothers and sisters, but the fust thing that Charlie noticed was a great lump of a man standing by the mantelpiece staring at ‘im.

“Come in, and make yourselves at ‘ome,” ses Mr. White. “I’m glad to see you both. Emma ‘as told me all about you.”

Charlie’s ‘art went down into ‘is boots, but every-body was so busy drawing their chairs up to the table that they didn’t notice ‘ow pale he ‘ad gone. He sat between Mr. White and Mrs. Jennings, and by and by, when everybody was talking, he turned to ‘im in a whisper, and asked ‘im who the big chap was.

“Mrs. Jennings’s brother,” ses Mr. White; “brewer’s drayman he is.”

Charlie said, “Oh!” and went on eating, a bit relieved in ‘is mind.

“Your friend and my gal ‘ll make a nice couple,” ses Mr. White, looking at Ted and Emma, sitting ‘and in ‘and.

“She couldn’t ‘ave a better husband,” ses Charlie, whispering again; “but where is Mrs. Jennings’s young man? I ‘eard he was to be here.”

Mr. White put down ‘is knife and fork. “Eh?” he ses, staring at ‘im.

“Mrs. Jennings’s intended?” ses Charlie.

“Who are you getting at?” ses Mr. White, winking at ‘im.

“But she ‘as got one, ain’t she?” ses Charlie. “That’ll do,” ses Mr. White, with another wink. “Try it on somebody else.”

“Wot are you two talking about?” ses Emma, who ‘ad been watching ‘em.

“He’s trying to pull my leg,” ses ‘er father, smiling all over his face. “Been asking me where Mrs. Jennings’s young man is. P’r’aps you oughtn’t to ‘ave told us yet, Emma.”

“It’s all right,” ses Emma. “He’s got a very jealous disposition, poor fellow; and me and Sophy have been telling ‘im about a young man just to tease ‘im. We’ve been describing him to ‘imself all along, and he thought it was somebody else.”

She caught Charlie’s eye, and all in a flash he saw ‘ow he ‘ad been done. Some of ‘em began to laugh, and Mrs. Jennings put her ‘and on his and gave it a squeeze. He sat there struck all of a heap, wondering wot he was going to do, and just at that moment there was a knock at the street door.

“I’ll open it,” he ses.

He jumped up before anybody could stop ‘im and went to the door. Two seconds arter Ted Denver followed ‘im, and that is last he ever saw of Charlie Brice, he was running down the road without ‘is hat as hard as he could run.

“THE TOLL-HOUSE”

“It’s all nonsense,” said Jack Barnes. “Of course people have died in the house; people die in every house. As for the noises—wind in the chimney and rats in the wainscot are very convincing to a nervous man. Give me another cup of tea, Meagle.”

“Lester and White are first,” said Meagle, who was presiding at the tea-table of the Three Feathers Inn. “You’ve had two.”

Lester and White finished their cups with irritating slowness, pausing between sips to sniff the aroma, and to discover the sex and dates of arrival of the “strangers” which floated in some numbers in the beverage. Mr. Meagle served them to the brim, and then, turning to the grimly expectant Mr. Barnes, blandly requested him to ring for hot water.

“We’ll try and keep your nerves in their present healthy condition,” he remarked. “For my part I have a sort of half-and-half belief in the super-natural.”

“All sensible people have,” said Lester. “An aunt of mine saw a ghost once.”

White nodded.

“I had an uncle that saw one,” he said.

“It always is somebody else that sees them,” said Barnes.

“Well, there is a house,” said Meagle, “a large house at an absurdly low rent, and nobody will take it. It has taken toll of at least one life of every family that has lived there—however short the time—and since it has stood empty caretaker after care-taker has died there. The last caretaker died fifteen years ago.”

“Exactly,” said Barnes. “Long enough ago for legends to accumulate.”

“I’ll bet you a sovereign you won’t spend the night there alone, for all your talk,” said White, suddenly.

“And I,” said Lester.

“No,” said Barnes slowly. “I don’t believe in ghosts nor in any supernatural things whatever; all the same I admit that I should not care to pass a night there alone.”

“But why not?” inquired White.

“Wind in the chimney,” said Meagle with a grin.

“Rats in the wainscot,” chimed in Lester. “As you like,” said Barnes coloring.

“Suppose we all go,” said Meagle. “Start after supper, and get there about eleven. We have been walking for ten days now without an adventure—except Barnes’s discovery that ditchwater smells longest. It will be a novelty, at any rate, and, if we break the spell by all surviving, the grateful owner ought to come down handsome.”

“Let’s see what the landlord has to say about it first,” said Lester. “There is no fun in passing a night in an ordinary empty house. Let us make sure that it is haunted.”

He rang the bell, and, sending for the landlord, appealed to him in the name of our common humanity not to let them waste a night watching in a house in which spectres and hobgoblins had no part. The reply was more than reassuring, and the landlord, after describing with considerable art the exact appearance of a head which had been seen hanging out of a window in the moonlight, wound up with a polite but urgent request that they would settle his bill before they went.

“It’s all very well for you young gentlemen to have your fun,” he said indulgently; “but supposing as how you are all found dead in the morning, what about me? It ain’t called the Toll-House for nothing, you know.”