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"That’s what I call a good story," said one of the men, sipping his hot whisky. "Of course it’san old idea that spirits like to get into the company of human beings. A man told me once that hetravelled down the Great Western with a ghost, and hadn’t the slightest suspicion of it until theinspector came for tickets. My friend said the way that ghost tried to keep up appearances byfeeling for it in all its pockets and looking on the floor was quite touching. Ultimately it gave itup and with a faint groan vanished through the ventilator. "

"That’ll do, Hirst," said another man.

"It’s not a subject for jesting," said a little old gentleman who had been an attentive listener.

"I’ve never seen an apparition myself, but I know people who have, and I consider that they forma very interesting link between us and the after-life. There’s a ghost story connected with thishouse, you know. "

"Never heard of it," said another speaker, "and I’ve been here some years now. "

”It dates back a long time now," said the old gentleman. "You’ve heard about Jerry Bundler,George?"

"Well, I’ve just ‘eard odds and ends, sir," said the old waiter, "but I never put much count to’em. There was one chap ‘ere what said ‘e saw it, and the gov’ner sacked ‘im prompt. "

"My father was a native of this town," said the old gentleman, "and knew the story well. Hewas a truthful man and a steady churchgoer, but I’ve heard him declare that once in his life hesaw the appearance of Jerry Bundler in this house. "

"And who was this Bundler?” inquired a voice.

”A London thief; pickpocket, highwayman—anything he could turn his dishonest hand to,”replied the old gentleman; "and he was run to earth in this house one Christmas week someeighty years ago. He took his last supper in this very room, and after he had gone up to bed a couple of Bow Street runners, who had followed him from London but lost the scent a bit, wentupstairs with the landlord and tried the door. It was stout oak, and fast, so one went into the yard,and by means of a short ladder got on to the window-sill, while the other stayed outside the door.

Those below in the yard saw the man crouching on the sill, and then there was a sudden smash of. glass, and with a cry he fell in a heap on the stones at their feet. Then in the moonlight they sawthe white face of the pickpocket peeping over the sill, and while some stayed in the yard, othersran into the house and helped the other man to break the door in. It was difficult to obtain anentrance even then, for it was barred with heavy furniture, but they got in at last, and the first thing that met their eyes was the body of Jerry dangling from the top of the bed by his ownhandkerchief. "

"Which bedroom was it?" asked two or three voices together.

The narrator shook his head. "That I can’t tell you; but the story goes that Jerry still haunts thishouse, and my father used to declare positively that the last time he slept here the ghost of JerryBundler lowered itself from the top of his bed and tried to strangle him. "

"That’ll do," said an uneasy voice. "I wish you’d thought to ask your father which bedroom itwas. "

"What for?" inquired the old gentleman.

"Well, I should take care not to sleep in it, that’s all," said the voice, shortly.

"There’s nothing to fear," said the other. "I don’t believe for a moment that ghosts could reallyhurt one. In fact my father used to confess that it was only the unpleasantness of the thing thatupset him, and that for all practical purposes, Jerry’s fingers might have been made of cotton-woolfor all the harm they could do. "