beyond the grave."

It makes me creepy all over to think of. And sometimes the folly of
Captain Johns would appear clothed in a sort of weird utilitarianism.
How useful it would be if the spirits of the departed could be induced
to take a practical interest in the affairs of the living! What a help,
say, to the police, for instance, in the detection of crime! The number
of murders, at any rate, would be considerably reduced, he guessed
with an air of great sagacity. Then he would give way to grotesque
discouragement.

Where was the use of trying to communicate with people that had no
faith, and more likely than not would scorn the offered information?
Spirits had their feelings. They were _all_ feelings in a way. But
he was surprised at the forbearance shown towards murderers by their
victims. That was the sort of apparition that no guilty man would dare
to pooh-pooh. And perhaps the undiscovered murderers--whether believing
or not--were haunted. They wouldn't be likely to boast about it, would
they?

"For myself," he pursued, in a sort of vindictive, malevolent whine, "if
anybody murdered me I would not let him forget it. I would wither him
up--I would terrify him to death."

The idea of his skipper's ghost terrifying anyone was so ludicrous
that the black mate, little disposed to mirth as he was, could not help
giving vent to a weary laugh.

And this laugh, the only acknowledgment of a long and earnest discourse,
offended Captain Johns.