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The Snoring Ghost
by
“When we returned to our room next day, there was no snoring to be heard, and in the full sunshine of a summer morning our fright seemed so completely a thing of the past, that I persuaded myself to suggest that it might have been ‘fancy’ (Kate had already expressed her deliberate opinion to this effect), to which Fatima, whose convictions were of a more resolute type than mine, replied, ‘What’s the use of trying to believe what’s not true? I heard it; and shall know that I heard it, if I live till I’m a hundred.’
“In all correct ghost stories, when the hero comes down in the morning, valiant, but exhausted from the terrors of the night, to breakfast, his host invariably asks him how he slept. When we came down, we found Kate and the Irishman alone together in the breakfast-room. Now it certainly was in keeping with our adventure when he stepped forward, and, bowing profoundly, asked how we had passed the night; but, in spite of the gravity of his face, there was a twinkle in the big brown eyes which showed us that we were being made fun of; and I felt slightly indignant with our friend, who had faithfully promised not to betray us to Miss Lucy, and might, I thought, have saved us from the ridicule of the Irishman. The rest of the company began to assemble, however, and to our relief the subject was dropped. But though the Irishman kept our secret, we had every reason to suspect that he did not forget it; he looked terribly roguish through breakfast, and was only kept in order by Kate’s severe glances.
“‘Always breathe through the nose,’ he suddenly began. ‘It moderates the severity of the air, is less trying to the lungs, and prevents snoring.’
“‘Very true,’ said the major, who was sensible, and liked instructive observations.
“‘It may be laid down as an axiom,’ continued the Irishman, gravely, ‘that the man who snores is sure to disturb somebody; and also that the man who doesn’t snore till he dies, is not likely to live to be a snoring ghost when he is dead.’
“Kate looked daggers. The major laughed, and said, ‘Let me give you some beef.’ When he didn’t understand a remark he always laughed, and generally turned the conversation to eatables, in which he was pretty safe; for food is common ground, and a slight laugh answers most remarks, unless at a serious meeting or a visit of condolence. A little later the Irishman asked: ‘What’s the origin of the expression to stir up with a long pole?’ which turned the conversation to wild beasts. But he presently inquired: ‘What’s the meaning of putting a thing up the spout?’
“‘Pawning it,’ said the major, promptly.
“‘People pawn their family jewels sometimes,’ said Pat. ‘Did you ever hear of anybody pawning the family ghosts?’ he asked, suddenly turning to me. I gave a distressed ‘No,’ and he continued in a whisper, ‘You never saw a ghost up the spout?’
“But, before I could answer, he caught Kate’s eye, and, making a penitent face, became silent.
“We were in the drawing-room after breakfast, when the Irishman passed the window outside, whistling ‘Kathleen Mavourneen.’ We were sitting at Kate’s feet, and she got up, and whispering, ‘He’s got something to show you, but he wouldn’t let me tell,’ went out into the garden, we following her.
“There we found the Irishman, with a long pole, which he was waving triumphantly in the air. He bowed as we approached.
“‘This, young ladies,’ he said, ‘is the original long pole spoken of at the breakfast-table. With this I am about to stir up and bring forth for your inspection the living and identical ghost whose snoring disturbed your repose last night.’
“The little Irishman’s jokes reassured me. I guessed that he had found some clue to our mysterious noise; but with Fatima it was otherwise. She had been too deeply frightened to recover so easily. She clung tremblingly to me, as I was following him, and whispered ‘I’d rather not.’