All Men are GhostsJacks, L. P. (Lawrence Pearsall)
Philosophy
All Men are Ghosts
Jacks, L. P. (Lawrence Pearsall)
Short stories; Supernatural -- Fiction
The very day on which Billy made this proposal another nasty thing
happened to us. We were summoned into the Headmaster's study and
informed that complaints had reached him concerning two boys who were
in the habit of walking about in the Park and staring in the rudest
manner at the young ladies, and making audible remarks about their
personal appearance. Were we the culprits? We confessed that we were.
What did we mean by it? We were silent: not for a whole Archipelago
packed full of buried treasure would we have answered that question. Did
we consider it conduct worthy of gentlemen? We said we did not, though
as a matter of fact we did. Dark hints of flagitiousness were thrown
out, which our innocence wholly failed to comprehend. The foolish man
then gave himself away by telling us that whenever we met Miss
Overbury's school on their daily promenade we were to walk on the other
side of the road.
Billy and I exchanged meaning glances: we knew now who had complained
(as though we would ever think of asking _them_ to tell us the time!).
Finally we were forbidden, under threat of corporal chastisement, to
enter the Park under any pretexts or circumstances whatsoever.
"The old spouter doesn't know," said I to Billy as we left the room,
"that we've already made up our minds not to go there again. What a
'suck-in' for him!"
Necessity having thus combined with choice, the scene of our quest was
now definitely shifted to the river-bank, where a broad winding path,
with seats at intervals, ran under the willows. Here a new order of
beauty seemed to present itself, and our hopes ran high. Several
promising candidates presented themselves at once. One, I remember, wore
a scarlet feather; another carried a gray muff. The scarlet feather was
my fancy; the gray muff Billy's.
I think it was on the occasion of our third visit to the river that the
crisis came. We sat down on the bank and held a long consultation.
"Well," said Billy at last, "I'm willing to ask Scarlet Feather. She's
ripping. Her _nose_ takes the cake; but, mind you, Gray Muff has the
prettier _boots_. And I know Scarlet Feather has a watch--I saw the
chain when we passed her just now. But before deciding I'm going to
have another look at Gray Muff. She's just round the bend. You wait
here--I'll be back in half a second."
I was left alone, and for some minutes I continued to gaze at the
flowing stream in front of me. Suddenly I saw, dancing about on the
surface of the water--but doubtless the whole thing was hallucination!
My nerves were in high tension at the moment, and in those days I could
have dreams without going to sleep.
The dream was interrupted by the sudden return of Billy. He was white as
the tablecloth and trembling all over.
"Come on!" he gasped. "I've found the very one! Quick, quick, or she'll
be gone!"
"Is it Gray Muff?" I asked.
"No, no. It's another. The Very One, I tell you. The One we've been
looking for."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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