"A marvellous story," I cried; "and more significant than even you, Panhandle, are aware. I knew Billy Burst. He and I were schoolmates, and practised magic together under the guidance of a mysterious Power whose name Billy would never disclose." "You knew Billy Burst!" exclaimed Panhandle. "My friend, you fill me with astonishment and delight. Did I not say we were on the eve of great discoveries? Tell me all you know about Billy, for the matter is of the utmost importance." "You are making _me_ wait for the appearance of the ghost," said I, "and must not be aggrieved if I make _you_ wait for information about Billy." "I again pledge my word to you," he answered, "that you shall see a ghost this very night." "And I pledge mine to you that you shall hear all about Billy as soon as the ghost appears. But it is my turn first." "Let us make it a covenant," he said. "Agreed!" I answered. "Then shake hands over the bargain." As he said this he stood up and extended his hand. With the utmost eagerness I sprang to my feet and made the reciprocating gesture. For an instant I thought that excitement had unsteadied me, for my hand, seeking his, seemed to move at random in the vacant air. Then I made a second attempt, carefully noting the position of his extended palm, and this time the truth dawned upon me in a flash. My hand, indeed, grasped what seemed to be his. But there was no substance to resist my closing fingers, no hardness of interior bones, no softness of enveloping tissues, no pressure, no contact, no warmth. "Panhandle," I cried, "you are a ghost!" "Hush!" he answered; "we never use that term in addressing one another. Whatever I _am_, you are also in process of _becoming_. You have been slow in making the discovery. I thought you had found me out when we stood among the cypress in the garden." I was trembling all over and had no control over the next words that came to my tongue. What they were I cannot remember, but Panhandle's reply seems to indicate that I had been imploring him to tell me what kind of a ghost he was. "Certainly not a character taken out of a novel," he was saying. "Think of the other orders of spirits who I told you were haunting the house, and place me in the last and highest." "You are the ghost of a philosophy!" I said. "I am." "Whose philosophy are you?" I shouted, for the figure of Panhandle was rapidly sliding away into the distance. "Your own!" was the answer. "Come back, beloved Panhandle!" I called after the retreating figure. "Come back and let me fulfil my part of the compact before you go. I have yet to tell you the story of Billy Burst." "I shall read it in the next chapter of your book," was the reply, now almost inaudible, so great was the distance from which it came. I called yet louder, "I have a ghost-story to tell _you_, dear Panhandle. Very important. About the ghost of a novelist. Far better than yours about the novelist's characters!"