"I'll bet you are an old fraud of a modern ghost."
Here he discharged all six chambers of his pistol into the body of the
spectre.
"No taikers," retorted the ghost, as the bullets whistled through her
chest, and struck deep into the wall on the other side of the kitchen.
"That's a noisy gun you've got, but you carn't ly a ghost with cold lead
hany more than you can ly a corner-stone with a chicken. H'I'm 'ere to sty
until I gets me waiges."
[Illustration]
"What was the amount of your wages due at the time of your discharge?"
asked Hankinson.
"H'I was gettin' ten pounds a month," returned the spectre.
"Geewhittaker!" cried Terwilliger, "you must have been an all-fired fine
cook."
"H'I was," assented the ghost, with a proud smile. "H'I cooked a boar's
'ead for 'is Royal 'Ighness King Charles when 'e visited Baingletop 'All
as which was the finest 'e hever taisted, so 'e said, hand 'e'd 'ave
knighted me hon the spot honly me sex wasn't suited to the title.
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