Half an hour later, when the gong sounded for luncheon, he was slowly making his way into the dining-room, when he encountered his guest running downstairs from his room, in great spirits. "A trifle over two hundredweight!" he exclaimed, as he reached the foot of the staircase, and seemed disappointed that Mr. Batchel did not immediately shake hands with him upon so fine a result of the morning's work. Mr. Batchel, needless to say, was occupied with other recollections. "I suppose it is unnecessary to ask," said he to his guest as he proceeded to carve a chicken, "whether you believe in ghosts?" "I do not," said Wardle promptly, "why should I?" "Why not?" asked Mr. Batchel. "Because I've had the advantage of a commercial education," was the reply, "instead of learning dead languages and soaking my mind in heathen fables." Mr. Batchel winced at this disrespectful allusion to the University education of which he was justly proud. He wanted an opinion, however, and the conversation had to go on. "Your commercial education," he continued, "allows you, I daresay, to know what is meant by a hypothetical case." "Make it one," said Wardle. "Assuming a ghost, then, would it be capable of exerting force upon a material body?" "Whose?" asked Wardle. "If you insist upon making it a personal matter," replied Mr. Batchel, "let us say mine." "Let me have the particulars." In reply to this, Mr. Batchel related his experience at the well. Mr. Wardle merely said "Pass the salt, I need it." Undeterred by the scepticism of his friend, Mr. Batchel pressed the point, and upon that, Mr. Wardle closed the conversation by observing that since, by hypothesis, ghosts could clank chains, and ring bells, he was bound to suppose them capable of doing any silly thing they chose. "A month in the City, Batchel," he gravely added, "would do you a world of good." As soon as the meal was over, Mr. Wardle went back to his gardening, whilst his host betook himself to occupations more suited to his tranquil habits. The two did not meet again until dinner; and during that meal, and after it, the conversation turned wholly upon politics, Mr. Wardle being congenially occupied until bed-time in demonstrating that the politics of his host had been obsolete for three-quarters of a century. His outdoor exercise, followed by an excellent dinner, had disposed him to retire early; he rose from his chair soon after ten. "There is one thing," he pleasantly remarked to his host, "that I am bound to say in favour of a University education; it has given you a fine taste in victuals." With this compliment, he said "good-night," and went up to bed.