Boycotted, and Other Stories. Talbot Baines Reed

Boycotted, and Other Stories - Talbot Baines Reed


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      Nothing more was said about the light.

      We advanced a few yards, and then halted again.

      “Better speak to him, I think,” said Lamb.

      “All right,” said Fraser. “Now then, who are you? What’s your name there?”

      His voice sounded loud and startling in the night air; but it was wasted breath. Never a word spoke Bubbles, but moaned as he struggled restlessly on the ground where he lay.

      Fraser’s spirits were rising every moment. “Oh, hang it!” he exclaimed. “I don’t believe it’s a ghost at all.”

      So saying, he made a further advance to within a few yards of the apparition.

      If it wasn’t a ghost, it was the most unearthly thing in the dark I ever saw as it lay there. We were still too far off to see it clearly, but it looked like some bloated creature without legs trying its hardest to rise on the feet that were not there.

      “Do you hear?” shouted Fraser once more. “Why can’t you speak and tell us who you are?”

      The creature gave a long sigh by way of answer, but no more.

      Fraser advanced another step, and we were preparing to follow, when the ghost slowly rose on end and made a sudden bound towards him!

      In an instant we were back in the house, rushing pellmell up the stairs, and looking neither this way nor that till we were safe back in the dormitory with our companions.

      We passed the remainder of that night dressed, and with candles burning, and it was not till morning broke that we dared once more look out of the window.

      And then we discovered the mystery of Bubbles’s ghost.

      A small half-exhausted balloon, about five feet high, lay on the grass below, with enough gas in it still to toss about restlessly in the breeze, and now and then even to rise on end and drag its little car a few inches.

      Where it came from and who it belonged to we never discovered. Probably some toy balloon let up by Christmas Eve revellers, who little thought it would alight on the roof of Jolliffe’s, and after flopping about there for some minutes would finally tumble into the court below, and there act the part of Bubbles to a handful of scared schoolboys.

      However, all’s well that ends well, and among the many amusements which made that day a Merry Christmas to us all there was none over which we laughed more than “Bubbles’s Ghost.”

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