ha'nted out of existence, and he's
hammering to wake the dead," said I.

But it wasn't Uncle Adam to whom we opened the door. An enormous,
square-shouldered man stood there, looking from me to Alicia with
bright, keen blue eyes behind glasses. He was so big, so
magnificently proportioned, that he held one's attention, at first,
by mere size. Then one had time to observe that although he hadn't
the sleek and careful grooming of successful New Yorkers, he wore
his clothes as, say, Coeur de Lion must have worn mail. He hadn't
the brisk business manner, either; but there radiated from him an
assured authority, as of one used to having his orders obeyed
without question. No one could pass him over with a casual eye. I
have known people who hated him frankly and heartily; I have known
people who adored him. I have never known any one who was lukewarm
where he was concerned.

"Which of you is Miss Smith?" he asked, in a very pleasant voice.
"Miss Smith, I'm your next-door neighbor, house to the right:
Doctor Richard Geddes, at your service."

We gave him to understand, with the usual polite commonplaces, that
we were pleased to make his acquaintance, and ushered him into the
dilapidated drawing-room.

"I'd have come over yesterday, when I learned you'd arrived, except
that my cook was suddenly seized with the notion she'd been
conjured, and I had to--er--stand by and persuade her she wasn't.
Swore she had my lunch ready, as usual; swore she'd placed it on a
tray, left it on the kitchen table for a few minutes, and when she
came back from the pantry, not ten feet away, the tray was gone.
Vanished. Disappeared. Nowhere to be found. She flopped on the floor
and howled. She weighs two hundred and forty pounds and I hadn't a
derrick handy. I had to roll her up on bed-slats. You've never had a
conjured two-hundred-and-forty-pounder on your hands, have you? No?
Well, then, don't. _But_ if you ever do, try a bed-slat. This
morning she discovered the tray in its usual place, dishes and
silver intact, nothing missing. She's looking for the end of the
world."

"O-o-h!" quavered Alicia, while I could feel my knees knocking
together. "O-o-o-h! How very, very singular! And--and was that all?"

"All! Wasn't that enough? I've had burned biscuit and muddy coffee,
because my cook's got liver and nerves, and insists it's her soul,"
said the doctor, grimly. "I've given her to understand that if she
hasn't got her soul saved before to-ni