Here the ghost fell to puffing again with a vigor born of vexation and disgust. The newspaper man now saw that there were many other forms quite as unsubstantial as this one walking around slowly. He noticed also that they kicked vigorously at some of the headstones as they passed, and that they all appeared to have and show a special hatred for some dark objects scattered among the graves. The young man could not resist the desire to know why the other ghosts seemed to be so angry. The ghost who was still smoking with evident pleasure, said: “Oh, the usual thing.” “And what is that, if I may ask?” “Oh, just as if it is not enough to be dead and not have your passport yet! Here come a lot of fools and stick flowers over your grave. It is true that we do not have so much to complain of in this respect as some of the newer cemeteries do. The most of us have been here for so long that we have no relatives to come here and leave them, and the public thinks it is quite honor enough to be buried here. Other cemeteries may be forgotten or removed, but this one is as solid as the rock of Gibraltar. It is honeycombed about as much too. And there are flowers enough growing in their proper places without sticking more around. We don’t care so much for sentiment as people seem to think we do. We have learned the value of it. We have grown practical.” The newspaper man held out his hand for the pipe to fill it again, gently asking the ghost to tell him what this special occasion might be, adding that he would be very grateful for anything that the ghost might be willing to impart, as probably he would never have a better chance to learn. The other ghosts sauntered along, looking enviously at this one as he sat there smoking vehemently and reflecting. It actually appeared that the ghosts could see and that they looked at him, though in the very nature of things they ought not to be able to see without eyes. Their efforts to appear entirely unconcerned while the favored one sat smoking were funny, or would have been so under any other circumstances. The young journalist had mentally christened this as the Sociable Ghost, and he waited silently, observing him while he did so, and pondered on the delight of the smoker as he in time became conscious of the glances of envy and overwhelming smoke-hunger of the other ghosts. They evidently would have done anything for just one whiff at that pipe, but they saw that there was nothing to hope for, and that they were confronting another bloated monopoly. But they all ranged themselves in line with apparent carelessness, so that the night wind should waft the smoke toward them. They sniffed the smoke eagerly and looked as though they would like to annihilate the smoker.