As the angry ghost delivered himself of this speech, he somehow took on such a fierce expression, shown more in attitude than feature—since he had no features—that the young man was sincerely glad that he had not been guilty of carving the objectionable stuff on the fast crumbling stone. As they walked along the ghost continued: “Now, take notice that this stone has all the epitaph rubbed out. The name only remains, and that proves that he was a pretty good sort. Here is another where the epitaph is all gone except the date. Now that is a good start, isn’t it?” The young man murmured something about it seeming so, though he was entirely in the dark about it. Still he knew enough to keep still and let the ghost tell his story in his own way and in his own time. Many a time he had managed to secure a fine story for his paper from someone who had declared that he had nothing to say by judiciously keeping silence, curbing his curiosity and inquisitiveness, and speaking only when absolutely necessary. He began to feel that he was going to get something tonight not often given to mortals, and he mentally arranged the headlines of the story, for of course he would sell it. Every other experience save one had been made to yield him so many dollars, and it was natural that this strange meeting should appeal to him only as a scoop beyond the power of any mortal to equal. So he discreetly awaited the pleasure of his ghostly companion. He wondered if the pebbles hurt the ghost’s feet. He felt a little delicate about mentioning it, particularly as he could have proposed no remedy even if the pebbles did hurt. Soon the ghost stopped by a rather small headstone, and in a reminiscent manner said, between the delicious whiffs of smoke: “I well remember when the fashion for these cherubs went out and fancy monuments with weeping willows on them came in. I had not been dead then very long, and I was wondering which I would get and thinking what a luminous old gump I was not to have made some provision for just such a contingency. By dying suddenly my widow had things her own way, and a pretty mess she has made of it as you see. Well; cherubs went out and weeping women in weeds standing over funeral urns took their places. I had thought that the new ones looked more dignified and were superior, but since then I have come to see these cherubs as they are. Where there are cherubs there is not much epitaph. Have you ever seen these cherubs? No? Well come then, and take a good look at them for they are worth the trouble. Some of them will fill you with envy to think you cannot have one right away to watch over your slumber—I don’t think,” This last was said with an indescribably waggish leer, and the reporter began to think he was on the right road to a new experience and that this man who had been so long dead still could see the humorous side of it all, and that would certainly be from a new viewpoint.