h something of the motion of a beginner
when learning to swim.

"Madam, I must ask you to leave, and at once. Consider the impression if
you were seen here----"

The ghost nodded, and began, very sensibly, I thought, to demobilize and
evaporate. First the brogans on her feet grew misty until I could see
the floor through them, then the affection spread to her knees and
gradually extended upward. By this time my wife was opening the door.

"Don't forget the strike," she repeated, while her lower jaw began to
disintegrate, and as my Lavinia crossed the room to me the last vestige
of her ear faded into space.

"John, why in the world are you sitting in the dark?"

"Just--thinking, my dear."

"Thinking, rubbish! You were talking out loud."

I remained silent while she lit the lamps, thankful that her back was
turned to me. When I am nervous or excited there is a muscle in my face
that starts to twitch, and this pulls up one corner of my mouth and
gives the appearance of an idiotic grin. So far I had managed to conceal
this affliction from Lavinia.

"You know I bought the loveliest thing this afternoon. Everybody's wild
over them!"

I remembered her craze for taking up new fads and a premonitory chill
crept up the back of my neck.

"It--it isn't----" I began and stopped. I simply couldn't ask; the
possibility was too horrible.

"You'd never guess in the world. It's the duckiest, darlingest Ouija
board, and so cheap! I got it at a bargain sale. Why, what's the matter,
John?"

I felt things slipping.

"Nothing," I said, and looked around for the ghost. Suppose she had
lingered, and upon hearing what my wife had said should suddenly
appear----Like all sensitive women, Lavinia was subject to hysterics.

"But you looked so funny----"

"I--I always do when I'm interested," I gulped. "But don't you think
that was a foolish thing to buy?"

"Foolish! Oh, John! Foolish! And after me getting it for you!"

"For me! What do you mean?"

"To help you write your stories. Why, for instance, suppose you wanted
to write an historical novel. You wouldn't have to wear your eyes out
over those musty old books in the public library. All you'd have to do
would be to get out your Ouija and talk to Napoleon, or William the
Conqueror, or Helen of Troy--well, maybe not Helen--anyhow you'd have
all the local color you'd need, and without a speck of trouble. And
think how easy writing your short stories will be now."

"But Lavin