"I _am_ alive, though goodness knows if times keep up the way they're going now I can't tell how soon I'll starve to death." "Starve to death?" "Yes; times have changed in the last four hundred years. Why, I remember years ago we ghosts were busy on haunting jobs night after night, but now we have to scratch pretty hard for a living." "But where have you met me?" asked Billy. "On your way to bed when the nurse had been telling you silly tales--come, we're old friends, let's shake hands." "Can--can you shake hands?" said Billy, putting his own behind him. "Certainly. Of course I can't shake your hand, but I can shake my own," and with that the Ghost held two long white arms in front of him, joined the ends (one really couldn't call them hands) and waved them up and down. Much relieved, Billy clasped his own two hands and feebly shook them--and my, how cold and clammy they felt! "Well, good-by, I must be going," said Billy nervously. "Don't go yet--let's talk over old times. And by the way, you don't happen to know a quiet family, keeping two servants, no children preferred, who wants to hire a respectable ghost. Thoroughly tame--will eat out of the hand--terms reasonable and references exchanged. Guaranteed to give satisfaction or money returned. If desired can take the shape of an old ancestor. Guarding buried treasure extra." And the Ghost rattled this off as if he had learned it by heart. [Illustration: "_Come up to the house and spend an unpleasant evening._"--Page 217.] "No," said Billy, "I really do not--in fact, I'm sure I don't." "Now that's too bad--but perhaps you would hire me--I'll make it cheap for old acquaintance' sake," said the Ghost wistfully. "No," said Billy quickly, "I don't think I care to be haunted." "If the price is all that stands in the way I'll work for my keep just to keep in practice." "No," said Billy, "I'm--," he was going to say "afraid," but remembered Mr. Gas's advice and said, "I'm sure I don't need you." "Well, I suppose if you won't, you won't--but anyway come up to the house and spend an unpleasant evening. I'd like you to meet the wife and children--my wife is a little high-spirited--the ghost of a lighthouse-keeper's daughter, but she will thaw out after a while, and I'm sure she can fix up a nice little supper for us." "I really have not time," said Billy, backing off. "Not if I tell you that we have some cold fear pie and a roast of imagination, a neat little salad of blood-curdling screams topped off with groan pudding--come, that ought to tempt you--and I'll get the children to do the shadow dance for you after supper." "You are very kind, I'm sure," said Billy, "but I have a message I must deliver to Bogie Man." "You don't mean to tell me that you're Billy Bounce?" exclaimed the Ghost. "Yes!" said Billy. "What have I done? Oh! me! that's what comes of getting old and near-sighted--I took you for little Tommy Jones." "No, I'm Billy Bounce."