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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #67319 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67319)
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-The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Ghost in the Red Shirt, by B. M.
-Bower
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
-will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
-using this eBook.
-
-Title: The Ghost in the Red Shirt
-
-Author: B. M. Bower
-
-Release Date: February 4, 2022 [eBook #67319]
-
-Language: English
-
-Produced by: Roger Frank and Sue Clark. (This file was produced from
- images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
-
-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GHOST IN THE RED SHIRT ***
-
-
- The Ghost in the Red Shirt
-
- by B. M. Bower
-
-
-The proper way to begin this story would be to assure the reader,
-first of all, that I have never believed in ghosts; that is the way
-ghost-stories usually begin, I think. Also, I should say that what I
-am about to relate is perfectly true—but I won’t begin it like that.
-As a matter of fact, I don’t care much whether you believe me or not,
-and I always did believe in ghosts—at least, I always hoped they were
-truer than Santa Claus, and that some day I should see one.
-
-Aunt Jane—but I don’t want to begin with Aunt Jane either: she always
-did begin everything in my life, ever since I can remember, and she
-sha’n’t begin this story. I don’t mean her even to know I wrote
-it—she’d only say I’m crazy, and I’m not.
-
-This is the way it all happened, and, mind, I don’t care whether you
-believe it or not. It _happened_, and your belief or disbelief won’t
-alter that one important fact. And he was the dearest old ghost—but
-wait till I start at the beginning, as I should have done before.
-
-We had gone across the lake that evening in the little sail-boat, the
-New Woman. Jack named it, you might know; he said she was full of
-whims and it took a man to hold her nose in the wind—Jack’s awfully
-sarcastic.
-
-There were just six of us—Aunt Jane and Mabel, Cousin Jack, Professor
-Goldburn, and Clifford Wilton. Clifford and I weren’t on very friendly
-terms. We had been engaged, though Aunt Jane didn’t suspect it. But it
-was all over, and my sweet little ruby ring was lying somewhere off
-Weir Point, where Clifford threw it one day—but this is a ghost-story.
-
-Nothing happened during the sail except that my hat blew away and
-Mabel hinted that it wasn’t an accident—that I liked to show off my
-hair. I said I didn’t show off any hair but what I might justly call
-my own, and, of course, that made Mabel mad—angry, I mean. Aunt Jane
-scolded me, as usual: it’s easy to tell which niece has the money.
-
-We landed to visit a cave in the cliff, and Mabel and Clifford flirted
-outrageously. It wasn’t a bit interesting—I mean the cave. The
-flirting didn’t worry me: I was particularly nice to Professor
-Goldburn—so nice that Aunt Jane called me her dear child twice, and
-the Professor came near offering me his heart and hand. Jack saved me:
-he called us all to the boat just as the Professor got fairly warmed
-to his subject. Of course, I ran as soon as Jack called, leaving the
-Professor to come nipping along behind—I hate fat men, anyway.
-
-A storm was muttering up from the horizon, and the oily, ugly clouds
-were almost over our heads before we pushed off, on account of Mabel
-and Clifford loitering along the cliff path and acting that silly!
-
-The lake was smooth as glass and ink black, and the look of it made me
-shiver, with four miles of it between us and home.
-
-Jack raised the sail, but it hung limp, so there was nothing for it
-but to row. Jack and Clifford went to work, while I steered the boat.
-Clifford spoke once to me: we ignored each other, as a rule.
-
-“Better keep her close in. We’ll try to round this point and run into
-the cove before she strikes.”
-
-“If we don’t,” remarked Jack cheerfully, “she’ll flop us; and, oh
-mister, she won’t do a thing to us!”
-
-I rather thought “she” would do several things to us, but I didn’t
-stop to argue the point—there wasn’t time. I don’t know just how it
-came about, but Jack was right—she “flopped” us.
-
-We weren’t far from shore, so the upset wasn’t very serious. The water
-was so shallow we could easily wade ashore, though Mabel called for
-help, and, of course, it was Clifford who rescued her—from water no
-deeper than our bathtub! It is incredible, the foolishness of that
-girl!
-
-I was first to climb the bank, and when I had watched the others land
-I just sat down in the wind and the rain and laughed. (Mabel says I
-will probably laugh at my own funeral; I’m positive I could have
-laughed at hers just then.) The idea of a great, overgrown girl like
-her (she weighs a hundred and fifty pounds if she weighs an ounce)
-sobbing on a young man’s shoulder! and the curl all out of her hair,
-and the complexion washed off her face in streaks. It’s a wonder she
-didn’t turn Clifford sick; but, then, men show dreadfully poor taste
-at times. I don’t suppose I was very entrancing myself just then, but,
-thank goodness, my complexion will bear washing!
-
-The New Woman reached the shore, upside down, almost as soon as we
-did, and my old golf-cape, that Aunt Jane insists I shall carry with
-me always in the boat, dangled on a wave-washed willow. Jack waded in
-and rescued it and Aunt Jane’s little gray shawl (her green umbrella’s
-gone forever, for which I am very thankful). Mabel’s sailor-hat washed
-ashore while we stood there, and Clifford got that.
-
-Then Jack remembered that there was an old cabin near there, and we
-found what had once been a well-trodden path leading back from the
-shore into the woods. We followed it dismally, with the lightning to
-guide us.
-
-Jack led the way, reciting: “It was night! The vivid lightnings
-flashed athwart the vaulted sky and shook their fiery darts upon the
-shuddering earth. The elements were in wild commotion!”—or something
-like that. I think he got it out of a “Penny Dreadful.”
-
-Just as Jack said “commotion,” with a fine roll upon the word, the
-Professor caught his toe upon a root, and down he went—and I laughed.
-Aunt Jane didn’t call me her dear child that time; she said,
-“Zel-l-l-ah!” But I don’t care. Jack laughed too, though he did
-pretend he was just coughing.
-
-We found the cabin, half hidden by the tall burdocks and wild
-rosebushes. The door-step was sunken and covered deep with the leaves
-of many summers.
-
-Jack threw open the door and cried “Spooks!” in a sepulchral tone
-which gave me a chill, but when Mabel gave a squawk and caught
-Clifford’s arm I just pushed Mr. Jack headlong over the threshold and
-went on in.
-
-The lightning glared in at the open door and showed us a great, old
-fireplace, with a huge pile of dry wood stacked in one corner, and
-there were some chairs and a table, and that was all.
-
-Jack swooped down upon the fireplace with a shout, and we had a
-roaring fire in no time, for Jack’s matches were dry, for a wonder.
-Goodness knows he paid enough for his matchbox; Aunt Jane said it was
-a scandalous price, but it was worth every cent of it to have dry
-matches that night. We huddled around the fire, half frozen from our
-ducking. I spread out my old golf-cape to dry, so that I might have
-some good of the old thing—I had lugged it around all summer and
-hadn’t used it once. Aunt Jane and I took down our hair and wrung out
-the water. Mabel wouldn’t; she said hers wasn’t very wet—and that
-settled the switch question in my mind, and from the way Jack grinned
-I know what he thought about it—and Aunt Jane trying to make a match
-between those two!
-
-Professor Goldburn backed up to the fire, rubbed his pudgy hands
-together behind him, and ogled till I felt downright sick, but I
-wouldn’t show it. He had lost his eyeglass and the curl was out of his
-mustache and his collar all crumpled, and that oily smile didn’t seem
-to match the rest of him a bit. I don’t care if he is worth a million
-or more, I just think he’s horrid! I smiled back at him just to see
-Clifford scowl. But Clifford wasn’t looking my way. He was whispering
-something to Mabel and had his back turned to me—both of which I
-consider rude in anybody, no matter who does it.
-
-Then Jack got to wondering what was in the next room, for there
-appeared to be two, and he and I went to explore.
-
-The room had been a bedroom, I think. It was bare of everything but
-dust and cobwebs, and was so small it didn’t take us long—Jack only
-burned one match and two fingers.
-
-After that we sat around the fire and listened to the storm, and tried
-to think we weren’t famished, which was hard to do, seeing we had had
-nothing since luncheon.
-
-Aunt Jane worried over Uncle John and how anxious he’d be, but I was
-rather glad for him. He’d lectured me awfully that morning because I
-wasn’t nice and dignified, like Mabel. I hoped he’d remember it with
-remorse.
-
-Jack sang coon-songs and even did a cake-walk. I got up and helped him
-in that, just to shock Mabel. She thinks cake-walking is very
-unladylike, and always looks scandalized when I begin anything of the
-kind.
-
-Aunt Jane—to punish us, I think—started the Professor going on his pet
-microbes, and once he was started, no one else had any show whatever.
-He droned on about bacilli and other horrors, and gravely assured us
-that old cabin was undoubtedly swarming with awful-sounding germs.
-Fancy being married to such a man—ugh!
-
-Aunt Jane presently fell asleep, and as Clifford took to staring
-moodily into the fire and not seeming to remember anything but his
-thoughts, Mabel soon followed Aunt Jane’s example. I was hungry and
-cross, and even the Professor couldn’t talk me to sleep.
-
-I wrapped my golf-cape around me and cuddled in an old armchair in
-front of the fireplace, with Jack and the Professor upon either side
-of me and Clifford on a little bench against the wall. Aunt Jane and
-Mabel were on the side opposite Clifford, though they, being asleep,
-do not count.
-
-I was beginning to hold my eyes open with some effort, when something
-roused me, and I sat up straight and listened. The storm was still
-beating furiously against the cabin walls, but another sound was
-distinctly audible. There could be no mistake—someone was walking back
-and forth in the other room.
-
-We looked at one another, and I admit a creepy feeling went up my
-spine just at first.
-
-Clifford caught up a brand from the fire and started for the closed
-door, and we all followed him. When we crowded into the doorway we saw
-nothing but the dust and the cobwebs and the dancing glare of
-Clifford’s torch upon the rough board walls. It was such a bare little
-room that I think we all felt a bit ashamed of our nerves.
-
-The footsteps had ceased, and only the wind and rain, beating upon the
-low roof, could be heard.
-
-“It’s the wind,” said Clifford, pointing his torch downward to freshen
-the blaze.
-
-“It was the water dripping from some branch upon the roof,” said the
-Professor—and that was the most sensible remark he had made that
-night.
-
-“More likely it’s rats,” put in Jack. “Can’t be a ghost—they’re noted
-chiefly for the noise they _don’t_ make.”
-
-I pinched Jack soundly for mentioning ghosts, and spoke as firmly as I
-could with my teeth chattering so,—
-
-“It’s your microbes, Professor.”
-
-Jack snickered, and the Professor rolled his eyes reproachfully at me.
-
-Then we all went back to the fire and Jack threw on more wood. The
-Professor went on talking, only this time it was about telepathy, or
-something of that sort. And soon we heard that heavy, measured tread,
-as before. I must say I didn’t much like the sound of it—coming like
-that, with no feet to make the thing seem reasonable, and with no
-ghost to make it creepily interesting, but the men appeared to ignore
-the tramping, so I tried to not care.
-
-Jack fell to smoking cigarettes, seeing Aunt Jane was asleep, and
-Clifford poked the ashes into fanciful little heaps and got creases in
-his forehead. He did look glum and no mistake, but I couldn’t see that
-he was afraid, or anything like that.
-
-After awhile my eyes went shut, just for a minute. I could still hear
-the Professor’s voice droning like a big bumble-bee, when suddenly he
-stopped short in the middle of a sentence. That was odd, for he does
-love to round out his sentences nicely, even when he is interrupted.
-
-I opened my eyes and looked at him. He was gazing, with mouth half
-open and with eyes full of fear, at something behind me.
-
-Well, you know how it is when someone begins to stare _behind_ you—if
-you were to be hanged for it the next minute, you’d turn and look. You
-couldn’t help it.
-
-I turned in my chair, and—br-r-r-r! I went cold all over, with little
-prickles in my scalp. (I suppose that was my hair standing on end,
-though Jack says it always does.)
-
-Coming slowly across the room, straight towards me, was a
-man—ghost—oh, I don’t know what! I gave one horrified glance, then I
-jumped from the armchair and with one bound I was on the little bench,
-snuggled up to Clifford’s side. I didn’t realize it till I felt his
-arm—well, under the golf-cape! (That blessed old cape shall never go
-to the ragman, I assure you.)
-
-I was none too soon, for as I sprang from the chair It slid into it.
-There he sat—a short, stocky figure, with grizzled hair and rough,
-toil-hardened hands. His eyes were dull and gazed straight into the
-fire.
-
-I must confess I was the tiniest bit disappointed after that first
-glance. I had all my life longed to see a really, truly ghost, but
-this one was neither picturesque nor orthodox. Where was the white
-winding-sheet? He wore faded blue overalls and a red flannel shirt! As
-to the chill, I have felt that before.
-
-For instance, when Clifford threw my ring away out, and I watched the
-widening circle where it fell, while he said bitterly, “There goes my
-faith in women,” I felt the very same creepy cold trickling down my
-back. I believe I even felt worse that time.
-
-We all sat as if paralyzed. After a minute I gathered courage to
-glance up at Clifford’s face, and, do you know, he actually seemed to
-enjoy the situation! He looked down at me, and his _eyes_ smiled—and
-I’m not sure but his lips did, as well. I know he didn’t seem a bit
-scared.
-
-Jack certainly was white, though he scouted the idea afterwards, and
-the Professor’s face was like a great lump of beef suet.
-
-After what seemed hours—and was probably only seconds—the apparition
-rose, glided back to the door, and disappeared.
-
-Jack drew a long breath and finished making a cigarette, though I know
-his hand shook and made it hard work. The Professor gathered himself
-together, said “Lord bless my soul!”—it was as bad as swearing, the
-way he said it,—and raised a forefinger.
-
-“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began in a shaky half-whisper, “it would
-seem that we have just beheld something unusual and—er—startling.”
-
-“Well, I should tell a man!” said Jack, glancing furtively over his
-shoulder as he drew a match along the edge of his chair.
-
-“Now,” continued the Professor hurriedly, somewhat steadied by Jack’s
-composure (though I’m certain that was only assumed), “I would
-suggest, in the interest of scientific research, that before anything
-is said upon the subject we each in turn write a brief description of
-the—er—phenomenon. In this way there will be less danger of our
-impression being colored by that of another mind, and—er—ladies
-first.”
-
-With this lame finish he handed me a little, red note-book and a
-pencil.
-
-“Write briefly what you saw,—I take it you _did_ see something,—then
-turn the page and pass the book to Mr. Wilton.”
-
-This struck me as being decidedly original, and since I was not nearly
-as frightened as one would suppose (it was _such_ a comfort being
-reconciled to Clifford!), I took the book and did the best I could.
-
-Then Clifford drew his arm reluctantly from under my cape,—I hope and
-pray no one knew it was there all this while,—scribbled rapidly,
-turned the page, and gave the book to Jack, and then his arm oh, well,
-what could I do? I did try pinching his hand, but his fingers caught
-mine in an awful grip and wouldn’t let go, and so—what could I do?
-
-Just then Aunt Jane woke with a shiver.
-
-“Mercy,” she said, “what an awful storm!”
-
-In a moment she noticed the steps in the other room.
-
-“Strange,” she said, turning her head to listen. “What is it, do you
-think?”
-
-“Wind,” said the Professor rather curtly, for him.
-
-“Water,” said Clifford, giving my fingers a squeeze.
-
-“Rats,” announced Jack, in a tone which left us doubtful as to his
-meaning.
-
-“Microbes,” finished I, not to be outdone by their brevity and aplomb.
-
-“Zella!” cried Aunt Jane, glancing apprehensively at the Professor.
-
-The Professor looked at me and sighed, and Jack clapped both hands
-over his heart and nearly sighed himself off the three-legged stool.
-Jack can’t endure Professor Goldburn.
-
-“Zella,” began Aunt Jane pointedly, “don’t you think you would be more
-comfortable in that chair?” (meaning the ghost chair.)
-
-“No, I don’t!” I snapped, very impertinently, I’m afraid—but catch me
-sitting in _that chair_ again!
-
-Aunt Jane turned to Jack, perched uncomfortably on the stool. (Now
-Jack is proverbially lazy: he never sits upright when he can lean.)
-
-“Well, Jack! I never knew you to let a cushioned armchair go begging
-an occupant. What’s the matter?”
-
-“Oh, nothing,” drawled Jack. “You sit there yourself, mother.”
-
-“Well, I will. It looks more comfortable than this straight-backed
-one,” and she settled down heavily on the faded calico cushion, while
-I shivered with horror.
-
-If the ghost in the red shirt returned—well, Aunt Jane is one of the
-screaming sort.
-
-We sat quiet a long time, it seemed to me. I was just wondering if I
-dared lean my head against Clifford and take a nap when I felt his arm
-tighten warningly. I looked, and there was the ghost gliding up to the
-chair, his lustreless eyes fixed upon the fire as before.
-
-Jack turned and saw it, and grew white. He can’t convince _me_ he
-wasn’t scared, for he looked it.
-
-I stared, horrified. I tried to cry out, but before I could limber my
-tongue (it felt so dry and helpless) the ghost reached the chair
-and—sat right down upon Aunt Jane! He really did! She stirred a little
-and shivered.
-
-“Throw more wood on the fire, Jack,” she said, “I feel chilly.”
-
-Chilly! Good Heaven, I think we all did! Even Jack’s splendid nerve
-was shaken at sight of his own mother dandling that Thing upon her
-knees.
-
-“Mother!” he cried, and his voice sounded hoarse (for a fellow that
-wasn’t scared), “for God’s sake, move!”
-
-Well, there’s a gap in the story here that I can’t fill.
-
-The next I remember Aunt Jane was fanning me with Mabel’s sailor-hat,
-and Jack stood by with an old tomato-can full of water which leaked a
-stream almost, and he looking very sober. The Professor was rubbing
-his hands together and saying, “Lord bless my soul!” over and over. I
-hate that man!
-
-The ghost in the red shirt was gone, and I could not hear any
-footsteps in the vacant room.
-
-After that it was a thousand years till morning. Our watches had all
-stopped, so I may be allowed my own estimate of the time, I hope.
-
-Well, I think that’s all of the ghost-story. It would take too long to
-tell how we walked home at daybreak—six miles, it was, right through
-the woods, and Aunt Jane and the Professor puffing like steam-engines
-before we had gone a mile—or how Uncle John had a steam-launch out
-searching for our remains. All that would make another story, and one
-is my limit.
-
-Oh, I didn’t go to sleep in that cabin and dream all this—how would
-you account for Clifford’s behavior since that night, then? And what
-about the red note-book? That is evidence that the ghost was real
-enough, I should think.
-
-We had all seen him alike, only Jack said he “wanted a shave,” which I
-hadn’t noticed, and the Professor wrapped his description up in so
-many long words that there was no getting at the sense of it—except
-that he _did_ see a ghost.
-
-Aunt Jane didn’t see him at all; she says she’d have died of fright if
-she had; and, of course, Mabel, sleeping through the performance as
-she did, was perfectly furious. She even went so far as to say we all
-made it up among us just to annoy her.
-
-Mabel and the Professor left the same day soon after that. Mabel
-simply couldn’t treat me decently after she knew——
-
-Oh, and I have another ruby ring, exactly like the one which lies off
-Weir Point. And Clifford has oceans of faith in women.
-
- (The End.)
-
-
-[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the July 1904 issue
-of Lippincott’s Monthly Magazine. This was her first short story
-published nationally.]
-
-*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GHOST IN THE RED SHIRT ***
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-<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Ghost in the Red Shirt, by B. M. Bower</p>
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
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-</div>
-
-<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Ghost in the Red Shirt</p>
-<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: B. M. Bower</p>
-<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 4, 2022 [eBook #67319]</p>
-<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p>
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-<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GHOST IN THE RED SHIRT ***</div>
-<div class='ce'>
-<h1 style='margin-bottom:0em;'>The Ghost in the Red Shirt </h1>
-<div style='font-size:1.1em;margin-bottom:2em;'>by B. M. Bower </div>
-</div>
-<p>The proper way to begin this story would be to assure the reader,
-first of all, that I have never believed in ghosts; that is the way
-ghost-stories usually begin, I think. Also, I should say that what I
-am about to relate is perfectly true—but I won’t begin it like that.
-As a matter of fact, I don’t care much whether you believe me or not,
-and I always did believe in ghosts—at least, I always hoped they were
-truer than Santa Claus, and that some day I should see one.</p>
-
-<p>Aunt Jane—but I don’t want to begin with Aunt Jane either: she always
-did begin everything in my life, ever since I can remember, and she
-sha’n’t begin this story. I don’t mean her even to know I wrote
-it—she’d only say I’m crazy, and I’m not.</p>
-
-<p>This is the way it all happened, and, mind, I don’t care whether you
-believe it or not. It <i>happened</i>, and your belief or disbelief won’t
-alter that one important fact. And he was the dearest old ghost—but
-wait till I start at the beginning, as I should have done before.</p>
-
-<p>We had gone across the lake that evening in the little sail-boat, the
-New Woman. Jack named it, you might know; he said she was full of
-whims and it took a man to hold her nose in the wind—Jack’s awfully
-sarcastic.</p>
-
-<p>There were just six of us—Aunt Jane and Mabel, Cousin Jack, Professor
-Goldburn, and Clifford Wilton. Clifford and I weren’t on very friendly
-terms. We had been engaged, though Aunt Jane didn’t suspect it. But it
-was all over, and my sweet little ruby ring was lying somewhere off
-Weir Point, where Clifford threw it one day—but this is a ghost-story.</p>
-
-<p>Nothing happened during the sail except that my hat blew away and
-Mabel hinted that it wasn’t an accident—that I liked to show off my
-hair. I said I didn’t show off any hair but what I might justly call
-my own, and, of course, that made Mabel mad—angry, I mean. Aunt Jane
-scolded me, as usual: it’s easy to tell which niece has the money.</p>
-
-<p>We landed to visit a cave in the cliff, and Mabel and Clifford flirted
-outrageously. It wasn’t a bit interesting—I mean the cave. The
-flirting didn’t worry me: I was particularly nice to Professor
-Goldburn—so nice that Aunt Jane called me her dear child twice, and
-the Professor came near offering me his heart and hand. Jack saved me:
-he called us all to the boat just as the Professor got fairly warmed
-to his subject. Of course, I ran as soon as Jack called, leaving the
-Professor to come nipping along behind—I hate fat men, anyway.</p>
-
-<p>A storm was muttering up from the horizon, and the oily, ugly clouds
-were almost over our heads before we pushed off, on account of Mabel
-and Clifford loitering along the cliff path and acting that silly!</p>
-
-<p>The lake was smooth as glass and ink black, and the look of it made me
-shiver, with four miles of it between us and home.</p>
-
-<p>Jack raised the sail, but it hung limp, so there was nothing for it
-but to row. Jack and Clifford went to work, while I steered the boat.
-Clifford spoke once to me: we ignored each other, as a rule.</p>
-
-<p>“Better keep her close in. We’ll try to round this point and run into
-the cove before she strikes.”</p>
-
-<p>“If we don’t,” remarked Jack cheerfully, “she’ll flop us; and, oh
-mister, she won’t do a thing to us!”</p>
-
-<p>I rather thought “she” would do several things to us, but I didn’t
-stop to argue the point—there wasn’t time. I don’t know just how it
-came about, but Jack was right—she “flopped” us.</p>
-
-<p>We weren’t far from shore, so the upset wasn’t very serious. The water
-was so shallow we could easily wade ashore, though Mabel called for
-help, and, of course, it was Clifford who rescued her—from water no
-deeper than our bathtub! It is incredible, the foolishness of that
-girl!</p>
-
-<p>I was first to climb the bank, and when I had watched the others land
-I just sat down in the wind and the rain and laughed. (Mabel says I
-will probably laugh at my own funeral; I’m positive I could have
-laughed at hers just then.) The idea of a great, overgrown girl like
-her (she weighs a hundred and fifty pounds if she weighs an ounce)
-sobbing on a young man’s shoulder! and the curl all out of her hair,
-and the complexion washed off her face in streaks. It’s a wonder she
-didn’t turn Clifford sick; but, then, men show dreadfully poor taste
-at times. I don’t suppose I was very entrancing myself just then, but,
-thank goodness, my complexion will bear washing!</p>
-
-<p>The New Woman reached the shore, upside down, almost as soon as we
-did, and my old golf-cape, that Aunt Jane insists I shall carry with
-me always in the boat, dangled on a wave-washed willow. Jack waded in
-and rescued it and Aunt Jane’s little gray shawl (her green umbrella’s
-gone forever, for which I am very thankful). Mabel’s sailor-hat washed
-ashore while we stood there, and Clifford got that.</p>
-
-<p>Then Jack remembered that there was an old cabin near there, and we
-found what had once been a well-trodden path leading back from the
-shore into the woods. We followed it dismally, with the lightning to
-guide us.</p>
-
-<p>Jack led the way, reciting: “It was night! The vivid lightnings
-flashed athwart the vaulted sky and shook their fiery darts upon the
-shuddering earth. The elements were in wild commotion!”—or something
-like that. I think he got it out of a “Penny Dreadful.”</p>
-
-<p>Just as Jack said “commotion,” with a fine roll upon the word, the
-Professor caught his toe upon a root, and down he went—and I laughed.
-Aunt Jane didn’t call me her dear child that time; she said,
-“Zel-l-l-ah!” But I don’t care. Jack laughed too, though he did
-pretend he was just coughing.</p>
-
-<p>We found the cabin, half hidden by the tall burdocks and wild
-rosebushes. The door-step was sunken and covered deep with the leaves
-of many summers.</p>
-
-<p>Jack threw open the door and cried “Spooks!” in a sepulchral tone
-which gave me a chill, but when Mabel gave a squawk and caught
-Clifford’s arm I just pushed Mr. Jack headlong over the threshold and
-went on in.</p>
-
-<p>The lightning glared in at the open door and showed us a great, old
-fireplace, with a huge pile of dry wood stacked in one corner, and
-there were some chairs and a table, and that was all.</p>
-
-<p>Jack swooped down upon the fireplace with a shout, and we had a
-roaring fire in no time, for Jack’s matches were dry, for a wonder.
-Goodness knows he paid enough for his matchbox; Aunt Jane said it was
-a scandalous price, but it was worth every cent of it to have dry
-matches that night. We huddled around the fire, half frozen from our
-ducking. I spread out my old golf-cape to dry, so that I might have
-some good of the old thing—I had lugged it around all summer and
-hadn’t used it once. Aunt Jane and I took down our hair and wrung out
-the water. Mabel wouldn’t; she said hers wasn’t very wet—and that
-settled the switch question in my mind, and from the way Jack grinned
-I know what he thought about it—and Aunt Jane trying to make a match
-between those two!</p>
-
-<p>Professor Goldburn backed up to the fire, rubbed his pudgy hands
-together behind him, and ogled till I felt downright sick, but I
-wouldn’t show it. He had lost his eyeglass and the curl was out of his
-mustache and his collar all crumpled, and that oily smile didn’t seem
-to match the rest of him a bit. I don’t care if he is worth a million
-or more, I just think he’s horrid! I smiled back at him just to see
-Clifford scowl. But Clifford wasn’t looking my way. He was whispering
-something to Mabel and had his back turned to me—both of which I
-consider rude in anybody, no matter who does it.</p>
-
-<p>Then Jack got to wondering what was in the next room, for there
-appeared to be two, and he and I went to explore.</p>
-
-<p>The room had been a bedroom, I think. It was bare of everything but
-dust and cobwebs, and was so small it didn’t take us long—Jack only
-burned one match and two fingers.</p>
-
-<p>After that we sat around the fire and listened to the storm, and tried
-to think we weren’t famished, which was hard to do, seeing we had had
-nothing since luncheon.</p>
-
-<p>Aunt Jane worried over Uncle John and how anxious he’d be, but I was
-rather glad for him. He’d lectured me awfully that morning because I
-wasn’t nice and dignified, like Mabel. I hoped he’d remember it with
-remorse.</p>
-
-<p>Jack sang coon-songs and even did a cake-walk. I got up and helped him
-in that, just to shock Mabel. She thinks cake-walking is very
-unladylike, and always looks scandalized when I begin anything of the
-kind.</p>
-
-<p>Aunt Jane—to punish us, I think—started the Professor going on his pet
-microbes, and once he was started, no one else had any show whatever.
-He droned on about bacilli and other horrors, and gravely assured us
-that old cabin was undoubtedly swarming with awful-sounding germs.
-Fancy being married to such a man—ugh!</p>
-
-<p>Aunt Jane presently fell asleep, and as Clifford took to staring
-moodily into the fire and not seeming to remember anything but his
-thoughts, Mabel soon followed Aunt Jane’s example. I was hungry and
-cross, and even the Professor couldn’t talk me to sleep.</p>
-
-<p>I wrapped my golf-cape around me and cuddled in an old armchair in
-front of the fireplace, with Jack and the Professor upon either side
-of me and Clifford on a little bench against the wall. Aunt Jane and
-Mabel were on the side opposite Clifford, though they, being asleep,
-do not count.</p>
-
-<p>I was beginning to hold my eyes open with some effort, when something
-roused me, and I sat up straight and listened. The storm was still
-beating furiously against the cabin walls, but another sound was
-distinctly audible. There could be no mistake—someone was walking back
-and forth in the other room.</p>
-
-<p>We looked at one another, and I admit a creepy feeling went up my
-spine just at first.</p>
-
-<p>Clifford caught up a brand from the fire and started for the closed
-door, and we all followed him. When we crowded into the doorway we saw
-nothing but the dust and the cobwebs and the dancing glare of
-Clifford’s torch upon the rough board walls. It was such a bare little
-room that I think we all felt a bit ashamed of our nerves.</p>
-
-<p>The footsteps had ceased, and only the wind and rain, beating upon the
-low roof, could be heard.</p>
-
-<p>“It’s the wind,” said Clifford, pointing his torch downward to freshen
-the blaze.</p>
-
-<p>“It was the water dripping from some branch upon the roof,” said the
-Professor—and that was the most sensible remark he had made that
-night.</p>
-
-<p>“More likely it’s rats,” put in Jack. “Can’t be a ghost—they’re noted
-chiefly for the noise they <i>don’t</i> make.”</p>
-
-<p>I pinched Jack soundly for mentioning ghosts, and spoke as firmly as I
-could with my teeth chattering so,—</p>
-
-<p>“It’s your microbes, Professor.”</p>
-
-<p>Jack snickered, and the Professor rolled his eyes reproachfully at me.</p>
-
-<p>Then we all went back to the fire and Jack threw on more wood. The
-Professor went on talking, only this time it was about telepathy, or
-something of that sort. And soon we heard that heavy, measured tread,
-as before. I must say I didn’t much like the sound of it—coming like
-that, with no feet to make the thing seem reasonable, and with no
-ghost to make it creepily interesting, but the men appeared to ignore
-the tramping, so I tried to not care.</p>
-
-<p>Jack fell to smoking cigarettes, seeing Aunt Jane was asleep, and
-Clifford poked the ashes into fanciful little heaps and got creases in
-his forehead. He did look glum and no mistake, but I couldn’t see that
-he was afraid, or anything like that.</p>
-
-<p>After awhile my eyes went shut, just for a minute. I could still hear
-the Professor’s voice droning like a big bumble-bee, when suddenly he
-stopped short in the middle of a sentence. That was odd, for he does
-love to round out his sentences nicely, even when he is interrupted.</p>
-
-<p>I opened my eyes and looked at him. He was gazing, with mouth half
-open and with eyes full of fear, at something behind me.</p>
-
-<p>Well, you know how it is when someone begins to stare <i>behind</i> you—if
-you were to be hanged for it the next minute, you’d turn and look. You
-couldn’t help it.</p>
-
-<p>I turned in my chair, and—br-r-r-r! I went cold all over, with little
-prickles in my scalp. (I suppose that was my hair standing on end,
-though Jack says it always does.)</p>
-
-<p>Coming slowly across the room, straight towards me, was a
-man—ghost—oh, I don’t know what! I gave one horrified glance, then I
-jumped from the armchair and with one bound I was on the little bench,
-snuggled up to Clifford’s side. I didn’t realize it till I felt his
-arm—well, under the golf-cape! (That blessed old cape shall never go
-to the ragman, I assure you.)</p>
-
-<p>I was none too soon, for as I sprang from the chair It slid into it.
-There he sat—a short, stocky figure, with grizzled hair and rough,
-toil-hardened hands. His eyes were dull and gazed straight into the
-fire.</p>
-
-<p>I must confess I was the tiniest bit disappointed after that first
-glance. I had all my life longed to see a really, truly ghost, but
-this one was neither picturesque nor orthodox. Where was the white
-winding-sheet? He wore faded blue overalls and a red flannel shirt! As
-to the chill, I have felt that before.</p>
-
-<p>For instance, when Clifford threw my ring away out, and I watched the
-widening circle where it fell, while he said bitterly, “There goes my
-faith in women,” I felt the very same creepy cold trickling down my
-back. I believe I even felt worse that time.</p>
-
-<p>We all sat as if paralyzed. After a minute I gathered courage to
-glance up at Clifford’s face, and, do you know, he actually seemed to
-enjoy the situation! He looked down at me, and his <i>eyes</i> smiled—and
-I’m not sure but his lips did, as well. I know he didn’t seem a bit
-scared.</p>
-
-<p>Jack certainly was white, though he scouted the idea afterwards, and
-the Professor’s face was like a great lump of beef suet.</p>
-
-<p>After what seemed hours—and was probably only seconds—the apparition
-rose, glided back to the door, and disappeared.</p>
-
-<p>Jack drew a long breath and finished making a cigarette, though I know
-his hand shook and made it hard work. The Professor gathered himself
-together, said “Lord bless my soul!”—it was as bad as swearing, the
-way he said it,—and raised a forefinger.</p>
-
-<p>“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began in a shaky half-whisper, “it would
-seem that we have just beheld something unusual and—er—startling.”</p>
-
-<p>“Well, I should tell a man!” said Jack, glancing furtively over his
-shoulder as he drew a match along the edge of his chair.</p>
-
-<p>“Now,” continued the Professor hurriedly, somewhat steadied by Jack’s
-composure (though I’m certain that was only assumed), “I would
-suggest, in the interest of scientific research, that before anything
-is said upon the subject we each in turn write a brief description of
-the—er—phenomenon. In this way there will be less danger of our
-impression being colored by that of another mind, and—er—ladies
-first.”</p>
-
-<p>With this lame finish he handed me a little, red note-book and a
-pencil.</p>
-
-<p>“Write briefly what you saw,—I take it you <i>did</i> see something,—then
-turn the page and pass the book to Mr. Wilton.”</p>
-
-<p>This struck me as being decidedly original, and since I was not nearly
-as frightened as one would suppose (it was <i>such</i> a comfort being
-reconciled to Clifford!), I took the book and did the best I could.</p>
-
-<p>Then Clifford drew his arm reluctantly from under my cape,—I hope and
-pray no one knew it was there all this while,—scribbled rapidly,
-turned the page, and gave the book to Jack, and then his arm oh, well,
-what could I do? I did try pinching his hand, but his fingers caught
-mine in an awful grip and wouldn’t let go, and so—what could I do?</p>
-
-<p>Just then Aunt Jane woke with a shiver.</p>
-
-<p>“Mercy,” she said, “what an awful storm!”</p>
-
-<p>In a moment she noticed the steps in the other room.</p>
-
-<p>“Strange,” she said, turning her head to listen. “What is it, do you
-think?”</p>
-
-<p>“Wind,” said the Professor rather curtly, for him.</p>
-
-<p>“Water,” said Clifford, giving my fingers a squeeze.</p>
-
-<p>“Rats,” announced Jack, in a tone which left us doubtful as to his
-meaning.</p>
-
-<p>“Microbes,” finished I, not to be outdone by their brevity and aplomb.</p>
-
-<p>“Zella!” cried Aunt Jane, glancing apprehensively at the Professor.</p>
-
-<p>The Professor looked at me and sighed, and Jack clapped both hands
-over his heart and nearly sighed himself off the three-legged stool.
-Jack can’t endure Professor Goldburn.</p>
-
-<p>“Zella,” began Aunt Jane pointedly, “don’t you think you would be more
-comfortable in that chair?” (meaning the ghost chair.)</p>
-
-<p>“No, I don’t!” I snapped, very impertinently, I’m afraid—but catch me
-sitting in <i>that chair</i> again!</p>
-
-<p>Aunt Jane turned to Jack, perched uncomfortably on the stool. (Now
-Jack is proverbially lazy: he never sits upright when he can lean.)</p>
-
-<p>“Well, Jack! I never knew you to let a cushioned armchair go begging
-an occupant. What’s the matter?”</p>
-
-<p>“Oh, nothing,” drawled Jack. “You sit there yourself, mother.”</p>
-
-<p>“Well, I will. It looks more comfortable than this straight-backed
-one,” and she settled down heavily on the faded calico cushion, while
-I shivered with horror.</p>
-
-<p>If the ghost in the red shirt returned—well, Aunt Jane is one of the
-screaming sort.</p>
-
-<p>We sat quiet a long time, it seemed to me. I was just wondering if I
-dared lean my head against Clifford and take a nap when I felt his arm
-tighten warningly. I looked, and there was the ghost gliding up to the
-chair, his lustreless eyes fixed upon the fire as before.</p>
-
-<p>Jack turned and saw it, and grew white. He can’t convince <i>me</i> he
-wasn’t scared, for he looked it.</p>
-
-<p>I stared, horrified. I tried to cry out, but before I could limber my
-tongue (it felt so dry and helpless) the ghost reached the chair
-and—sat right down upon Aunt Jane! He really did! She stirred a little
-and shivered.</p>
-
-<p>“Throw more wood on the fire, Jack,” she said, “I feel chilly.”</p>
-
-<p>Chilly! Good Heaven, I think we all did! Even Jack’s splendid nerve
-was shaken at sight of his own mother dandling that Thing upon her
-knees.</p>
-
-<p>“Mother!” he cried, and his voice sounded hoarse (for a fellow that
-wasn’t scared), “for God’s sake, move!”</p>
-
-<p>Well, there’s a gap in the story here that I can’t fill.</p>
-
-<p>The next I remember Aunt Jane was fanning me with Mabel’s sailor-hat,
-and Jack stood by with an old tomato-can full of water which leaked a
-stream almost, and he looking very sober. The Professor was rubbing
-his hands together and saying, “Lord bless my soul!” over and over. I
-hate that man!</p>
-
-<p>The ghost in the red shirt was gone, and I could not hear any
-footsteps in the vacant room.</p>
-
-<p>After that it was a thousand years till morning. Our watches had all
-stopped, so I may be allowed my own estimate of the time, I hope.</p>
-
-<p>Well, I think that’s all of the ghost-story. It would take too long to
-tell how we walked home at daybreak—six miles, it was, right through
-the woods, and Aunt Jane and the Professor puffing like steam-engines
-before we had gone a mile—or how Uncle John had a steam-launch out
-searching for our remains. All that would make another story, and one
-is my limit.</p>
-
-<p>Oh, I didn’t go to sleep in that cabin and dream all this—how would
-you account for Clifford’s behavior since that night, then? And what
-about the red note-book? That is evidence that the ghost was real
-enough, I should think.</p>
-
-<p>We had all seen him alike, only Jack said he “wanted a shave,” which I
-hadn’t noticed, and the Professor wrapped his description up in so
-many long words that there was no getting at the sense of it—except
-that he <i>did</i> see a ghost.</p>
-
-<p>Aunt Jane didn’t see him at all; she says she’d have died of fright if
-she had; and, of course, Mabel, sleeping through the performance as
-she did, was perfectly furious. She even went so far as to say we all
-made it up among us just to annoy her.</p>
-
-<p>Mabel and the Professor left the same day soon after that. Mabel
-simply couldn’t treat me decently after she knew——</p>
-
-<p>Oh, and I have another ruby ring, exactly like the one which lies off
-Weir Point. And Clifford has oceans of faith in women.</p>
-
-<div class='ce'>
-<div style='font-size:0.8em;'>(The End.) </div>
-</div>
-<div class="tn">
- <div style='text-align:center'>Transcriber’s Note</div>
- <ol>
- <li>This story appeared in the July 1904 issue of <i>Lippincott’s Monthly Magazine</i>.
- This was her first short story published nationally.</li>
- <li>The cover image was created by the transcriber and placed in the public domain.</li>
- </ol>
-</div>
-<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GHOST IN THE RED SHIRT ***</div>
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