His silence was irritating and made me
resentful.
'My good friend,' I said, somewhat ironically, I
fear, 'I am not disposed to question your right to
harbour as many spooks as you find agreeable to
your taste and consistent with your notions of com-
panionship; that is no business of mine. But being
just a plain man of affairs, mostly of this world, I
find spooks needless to my peace and comfort. I am
going to my hotel, where my fellow-guests are still
in the flesh.'
It was not a very civil speech, but he manifested
no feeling about it. 'Kindly remain,' he said. 'I am
grateful for your presence here. What you have
heard to-night I believe myself to have heard twice
before. Now I know it was no illusion. That is much
to me--more than you know. Have a fresh cigar
and a good stock of patience while I tell you the
story.'
The rain was now falling more steadily, with a
low, monotonous susurration, interrupted at long
intervals by the sudden slashing of the boughs of
the trees as the wind rose and failed. The night was
well advanced, but both sympathy and curiosity held
me a willing listener to my friend's monologue,
which I did not interrupt by a single word from be-
ginning to end.
'Ten years ago,' he said, 'I occupied a ground-
floor apartment in one of a row of houses, all alike,
away at the other end of the town, on what we call
Rincon Hill. This had been the best quarter of San
Francisco, but had fallen into neglect and decay,
partly because the primitive character of its domes-
tic architecture no longer suited the maturing tastes
of our wealthy citizens, partly because certain pub-
lic improvements had made a wreck of it.
Pages:
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162