tory as you never
heard! But I couldn't do anything with him."

"I'll go and tackle him," said Janet at once. "We can't lose him. The
work will go to smash."

She waved a farewell to Ellesborough, and ran back to the house. The
others, watching, saw her emerge on her bicycle and disappear towards the
village.

"Well, if anybody can move the old fellow, I suppose it's Miss Leighton,"
said Hastings disconsolately. "She's always managed to get the right side
of him so far. But I'm nearly beat, captain! Things are getting too hard
for me. You can't say a word to these men--they're off in a moment. And
the wages!--it's sinful!"

"We're supposed only to be fighting a war, Hastings," said Ellesborough
with a smile as they walked on together. "But all the time there's
revolution going on beside it--all over the world!"

Hastings made a face.

"Right you are, captain. And how's it going to work out?"

"Don't ask me!" laughed Ellesborough--"we've all got to sit tight and
hope for the best. All I know is that the people who work with their
hands are going to get a bit of their own back from the people who work
with their heads--or their cheque-books. And I'm glad of it! But ghosts
are a silly nuisance. However, I dare say Miss Leighton will get round
the old man."

Hastings looked doubtful.

"I don't know. All the talk about the murder has come up again. They say
there's a grandson come home of the man that was suspected sixty years
ago--John Dempsey. And some people tell me that this lad had the whole
story of the murder from his grandfather--who confessed it--only last
year, when the man died."

"Well, if he's dead all right, and has owned up to it, why on earth does
the ghost make a fuss?"

Hastings shook his head.

"People get talking," he said gloomily. "And when they get talking,
they'll believe anything--and see anything. It'll be the girls next."

Ellesborough tried to cheer him, but without much success. The "poor
spirit" of the bailiff was a perpetual astonishment to the American, in
the prime of his own life and vigour. Existence for Hastings was always
either drab or a black business. If the weather was warm, "a bit of cold
would ha' been better": if a man recovered from an illness, he'd still
got the "bother o' dyin' before him." He was certain we should lose the
war, and the rush of the September victories did not affect him. And if
we didn't lose it, no matter--prices and wages would still be enough