CHAPTER XXIII
THE GHOST THAT REALLY WALKED
It did seem absurd, in spite of the fact that they were snowbound in a
"haunted house." The big automobile lamps glared brilliantly from the
mantel, and Tom, with Nat, found another place to rest--on the long, low
bench that formed a really artistic seat at the foot of the broad
stairway.
"Many a gay fellow has rested here, between the dances, don't you think?"
asked Nat. "I fancy I hear the other fellow and his girl coming down the
stairs at this moment." He threw himself back in a mocking attitude, while
Tom bowed to the "girl coming down the stairs."
But the boys were tired; conversation broke into uneven sentences, then
words fell into syllables and finally there remained only the
punctuation--a full stop.
Dorothy was dreaming that the men in the boats on the Italian marble
mantel were coming to rescue her. Tavia had a weakness for brilliant
nightmares, and she dreamed that the crystal chandeliers were
coming--coming down, to strike her directly in the face.
She screamed, and every one started up.
"What was it?" cried Dorothy, on her feet in an instant.
Tom and Nat jumped up as quickly, Nat with revolver in hand, and Tom
grasping the hatchet.
"I certainly saw a light at the end of the hall," whispered Nat to Tom.
"Don't alarm the girls--just watch."
"What was it?" asked Dorothy again.
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