This Hankinson
J. Terwilliger at once proceeded to do, arming himself with a pair of
horse-pistols, murmuring on the way below a soft prayer, the only one he
knew, and which, with singular inappropriateness on this occasion, began
with the words, "Now I lay me down to sleep."
"What's the matter, Judson?" queried Mrs. Terwilliger, drowsily, as she
opened her eyes and saw her husband preparing for the fray.
She no longer called him Hankinson, not because she did not think it a
good name, nor was it less euphonious to her ear than Judson, but Judson
was Mr. Terwilliger's middle name, and middle names were quite the thing,
she had observed, in the best circles. It was doubtless due to this
discovery that her visiting cards had been engraved to read "Mrs. H.
Judson-Terwilliger," the hyphen presumably being a typographical error,
for which the engraver was responsible.
[Illustration]
"Matter enough," growled Hankinson. "I have reason to believe that that
jackass of a ghost is on duty to-night.
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