"Yes," Terwilliger said, as if answering a question. "That's the way out,
madame. It's a beautiful exit, too. Just try it."

"H'I knows the wi out," returned the spectre, rising and approaching the
tenant of Bangletop, whose solitary lock also rose, being too polite to
remain seated while the ghost walked. "H'I also knows the wi in, 'Ankinson
Judson Terwilliger."

"That's very evident, madame, and between you and me I wish you didn't,"
returned Hankinson, somewhat relieved to hear the ghost talk, even if her
voice did sound like the roar of a conch-shell with a bad case of grip. "I
may say to you that, aside from a certain uncanny satisfaction which I
feel at being permitted for the first time in my life to gaze upon the
linaments of a real live misty musty spook, I regard your coming here as
an invasion of the sacred rights of privacy which is, as you might say,
'hinexcusable.'"

[Illustration]

"Hinvaision?" retorted the ghost, snapping her fingers in his face with
such effect that his chin dropped until Terwilliger began to fear it might
never resume its normal position. "Hinvaision? H'I'd like to know 'oo's
the hinvaider. H'I've occupied these 'ere 'alls for hover two 'undred
years."

"Then it's time you moved, unless perchance you are the ghost of a
mediaeval porker," Hankinson said, his calmness returning now that he had
succeeded in plastering his iron-gray lock across the top of his otherwise
bald head. "Of course, if you are a spook of that kind you want the earth,
and maybe you'll get it."