e hotel, I thought you might help
me out some way. You see you----"

He led me to a chair and offered me a fat cigar.

"Young man," he said, "when you get your head above water and make good
in the world--if you ever do--don't fool with curios, don't monkey with
antiques. Keep away from castles. They're like everything else sold by
curio dealers--all humbug. Look nice, yes. But get 'em over to America
and they either fall to pieces or the paint comes off. Whether it's a
chair or a castle--same old story. The sly scalawags that sell you the
goods won't live up to their contracts."

"Hasn't Gauntmoor all the ancient inconveniences a Robber Baron could
wish?" I asked.

"It ain't," announced Mr. Hobson. "Though it looks all right to a
stranger, perhaps. There may be castles in the Old World got it on
Gauntmoor for size--thank God I didn't buy 'em!--but for looks you can't
beat Gauntmoor."

"Comfortable?" I asked.

"Can't complain. Modern plumbed throughout. Hard to heat, but I put an
electric-light plant in the cellar. Daughter Annie's got a Colonial
suite in the North Tower."

"Well," I suggested, "if there's anything the castle lacks, you can buy
it."

"There's one thing money _can't_ buy," said Mr. Hobson, leaning very
close and speaking in a sibilant whisper. "And that's ghosts!"

"But who wants ghosts?" I inquired.

"Now look here," said Mr. Hobson. "I'm a business man. When I bought
Gauntmoor, the London scalawags that sold it to me gave me distinctly to
understand that this was a Haunted Castle. They showed me a haunted
chamber, showed me the haunted wall where the ghost walks, guaranteed
the place to be the Spook Headquarters of the British Isles--and see
what I got!" He snapped his fingers in disgust.

"No results?"

"Results? Stung! I've slept in that haunted room upstairs for a solid
year. I've gazed night after night over the haunted rampart. I've even
hired spiritualists to come and cut their didoes in the towers and
donjon keep. No use. You can't get ghosts where they ain't."

I expressed my sympathy.

"I'm a plain man," said Hobson. "I ain't got any ancestors back of
father, who was a blacksmith, and a good one, when sober. Somebody
else's ancestors is what I looked for in this place--and I've got 'em,
too, carved in wood and stone in the chapel out back of the tower. But
statues and carvings ain't like ghosts to add tone to an ancient
lineage."

"Is there any legend?" I asked.

"Haven'