I had been lying like this for half an hour or so, and had
forgotten all about the ghost, when, on casually casting my eyes
round the room, I noticed for the first time a singularly
contented-looking phantom, sitting in the easy-chair by the fire,
smoking the ghost of a long clay pipe.

I fancied for the moment, as most people would under similar
circumstances, that I must be dreaming. I sat up, and rubbed my
eyes.

No! It was a ghost, clear enough. I could see the back of the
chair through his body. He looked over towards me, took the
shadowy pipe from his lips, and nodded.

The most surprising part of the whole thing to me was that I did
not feel in the least alarmed. If anything, I was rather pleased
to see him. It was company.

I said, "Good evening. It's been a cold day!"

He said he had not noticed it himself, but dared say I was right.

We remained silent for a few seconds, and then, wishing to put it
pleasantly, I said, "I believe I have the honour of addressing the
ghost of the gentleman who had the accident with the wait?"

He smiled, and said it was very good of me to remember it. One
wait was not much to boast of, but still, every little helped.