who was killed, not the _horses_. The wrong part of the team walked."

"You _are_ particular," replied the Youngster. "The man did not come
back, and the horses did. I can't split hairs when it's a ghost story.
I feel afraid that I have missed my vocation, and that flights in the
imagination are more in my line than flights in the air. I don't know
what you think. _I_ think it's a mighty good story. I say, Journalist,
do you think I could sell that story? I've never earned a dollar in my
life."

"Well," laughed the Journalist, "a dollar is just about what you would
get for it."

"If I had been doing that story," said the Critic, "I should have
found a logical explanation for it."

"Of course you would," said the Youngster. "I know one of a haunted
house on St. James Street which had an explanation."

But the Doctor cut him short with: "Come now, you've done your stunt.
No more stories to-night. Off to bed. You and I are going to take a
run to Paris to-morrow."

"What for?"

"Tell you to-morrow."

As every one began to move toward the house, the Violinist remarked,
"I was thinking of running up to Paris myself to-morrow. Any one else
want to go with me?" The Journalist said that he did, and the party