stopped abruptly and stood as if petrified, his eyes staring in horror and amazement at a figure which was just coming in at the front gate.
General Bastow had returned after the manoeuvres to spend a few days with his friend, Mr Hunter, had met Mr Brown there and had today been invited to the Browns’ to lunch. William did not
know this. Ginger and Douglas were equally petrified. The three of them stood transfixed with horror – eyes and mouths open wide. The visitor strode jauntily up to the front door. He did not
see the three boys who were crouching behind the bushes.
William recovered from his stupor first. He turned to Ginger and hissed:
‘Thought you said he’d drowned himself . . . thought you said you’seen his dead body.’
Ginger’s face was pale with horror.
‘I did,’ he gasped, ‘I did honest. This must be his ghost.’
‘It can’t be,’ said Douglas. ‘You can’t see through it.’
‘You c-can’t always see through them,’ said Ginger faintly.
‘Dun’t look like a ghost,’ said William grimly.
‘It mus ’ be,’ said Ginger recovering gradually his normal manner. ‘It mus’ be. I tell you I sor his dead body in the pond. He’s haunting us
’cause we made him kill himself same as you said you’d haunt the man what nearly killed you with a motor car. I bet you anythin ’ that if you went up an’ gave him a
good hit the hit’d go right through him.’
General Bastow had reached the front door and rung the bell. He stood there twirling his white moustaches still unaware of the three boys behind him.
‘All right,’ said William, ‘go’n’ do it. Go’n’ give him a good hit and see if it goes through him.’
‘All right, I will,’ said Ginger unexpectedly.
Ginger had been so convinced that the black shadow at the bottom of the pond was General Bastow’s dead body that he had no doubt at all that this apparition was General Bastow’s
ghost come back to haunt him. He had decided to show it once for all that he was not afraid of it. He would jolly well teach it to come haunting him.
Before either William or Douglas could stop him he had crept up behind the gallant warrior and dealt him a sound punch in the small of his back. The General started round, purple-faced and
snorting with anger. The impact of his fist with the solid flesh of the General had convinced Ginger at once that this was no ghostly visitant from another world, and panic-stricken he had darted
off into the bushes like a flash of lightning. Douglas, with admirable presence of mind, had followed him, and when the General turned, purple-faced and snorting, only William was there standing
behind him, rooted to the spot in sheer horror. And at that moment William’s father opened the door. The General pointed a fierce finger at William.
‘Th-a-t boy’s just hit me,’ he spluttered, going a still more terrific purple.
At this monstrous accusation the power of speech returned to William.
‘I d-didn’t,’ he gasped, ‘Ginger did. Ginger hit you b-because he thought you were a ghost.’
The enormous figure of the General seemed to grow more enormous still and his purple face more purple still. His eyes were bulging.
‘Thought I was a g— Thought I was a what? ’
‘A ghost,’ said William.
‘A GHOST?’ roared the General.
‘Yes, a ghost,’ said William; ‘he thought he’d drowned you and you’d come back to haunt him.’
‘He thought – WHAT?’ bellowed the General.
‘He thought he’d drowned you and you’d come back to haunt him. He was hitting you to see if the hit would go through you.’
The General stared back at him and stared and stared. And a memory came back to him – a memory of a dusty road, a bullet-head in his stomach and an unavailing pursuit. He looked as if he
were going to have an apoplectic fit. He pointed a trembling finger at William,
‘Why – you’re the boy,’ he sputtered, ‘who—’
William’s father intervened quietly.
‘Yes,’
General Bastow had returned after the manoeuvres to spend a few days with his friend, Mr Hunter, had met Mr Brown there and had today been invited to the Browns’ to lunch. William did not
know this. Ginger and Douglas were equally petrified. The three of them stood transfixed with horror – eyes and mouths open wide. The visitor strode jauntily up to the front door. He did not
see the three boys who were crouching behind the bushes.
William recovered from his stupor first. He turned to Ginger and hissed:
‘Thought you said he’d drowned himself . . . thought you said you’seen his dead body.’
Ginger’s face was pale with horror.
‘I did,’ he gasped, ‘I did honest. This must be his ghost.’
‘It can’t be,’ said Douglas. ‘You can’t see through it.’
‘You c-can’t always see through them,’ said Ginger faintly.
‘Dun’t look like a ghost,’ said William grimly.
‘It mus ’ be,’ said Ginger recovering gradually his normal manner. ‘It mus’ be. I tell you I sor his dead body in the pond. He’s haunting us
’cause we made him kill himself same as you said you’d haunt the man what nearly killed you with a motor car. I bet you anythin ’ that if you went up an’ gave him a
good hit the hit’d go right through him.’
General Bastow had reached the front door and rung the bell. He stood there twirling his white moustaches still unaware of the three boys behind him.
‘All right,’ said William, ‘go’n’ do it. Go’n’ give him a good hit and see if it goes through him.’
‘All right, I will,’ said Ginger unexpectedly.
Ginger had been so convinced that the black shadow at the bottom of the pond was General Bastow’s dead body that he had no doubt at all that this apparition was General Bastow’s
ghost come back to haunt him. He had decided to show it once for all that he was not afraid of it. He would jolly well teach it to come haunting him.
Before either William or Douglas could stop him he had crept up behind the gallant warrior and dealt him a sound punch in the small of his back. The General started round, purple-faced and
snorting with anger. The impact of his fist with the solid flesh of the General had convinced Ginger at once that this was no ghostly visitant from another world, and panic-stricken he had darted
off into the bushes like a flash of lightning. Douglas, with admirable presence of mind, had followed him, and when the General turned, purple-faced and snorting, only William was there standing
behind him, rooted to the spot in sheer horror. And at that moment William’s father opened the door. The General pointed a fierce finger at William.
‘Th-a-t boy’s just hit me,’ he spluttered, going a still more terrific purple.
At this monstrous accusation the power of speech returned to William.
‘I d-didn’t,’ he gasped, ‘Ginger did. Ginger hit you b-because he thought you were a ghost.’
The enormous figure of the General seemed to grow more enormous still and his purple face more purple still. His eyes were bulging.
‘Thought I was a g— Thought I was a what? ’
‘A ghost,’ said William.
‘A GHOST?’ roared the General.
‘Yes, a ghost,’ said William; ‘he thought he’d drowned you and you’d come back to haunt him.’
‘He thought – WHAT?’ bellowed the General.
‘He thought he’d drowned you and you’d come back to haunt him. He was hitting you to see if the hit would go through you.’
The General stared back at him and stared and stared. And a memory came back to him – a memory of a dusty road, a bullet-head in his stomach and an unavailing pursuit. He looked as if he
were going to have an apoplectic fit. He pointed a trembling finger at William,
‘Why – you’re the boy,’ he sputtered, ‘who—’
William’s father intervened quietly.
‘Yes,’
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