nt at first. I didn't know what to say. 'A very
solemn subject, Mr. Bunter,' says he. I've given a great deal of study
to it."

Had Johns lived on shore he would have been the predestined prey of
fraudulent mediums; or even if he had had any decent opportunities
between the voyages. Luckily for him, when in England, he lived
somewhere far away in Leytonstone, with a maiden sister ten years older
than himself, a fearsome virago twice his size, before whom he trembled.
It was said she bullied him terribly in general; and in the particular
instance of his spiritualistic leanings she had her own views.

These leanings were to her simply satanic. She was reported as having
declared that, "With God's help, she would prevent that fool from
giving himself up to the Devils." It was beyond doubt that Johns' secret
ambition was to get into personal communication with the spirits of the
dead--if only his sister would let him. But she was adamant. I was told
that while in London he had to account to her for every penny of the
money he took with him in the morning, and for every hour of his time.
And she kept the bankbook, too.

Bunter (he had been a wild youngster, but he was well connected;
had ancestors; there was a family tomb somewhere in the home
counties)--Bunter was indignant, perhaps on account of his own dead.
Those steely-blue eyes of his flashed with positive ferocity out of that
black-bearded face. He impressed me--there was so much dark passion in
his leisurely contempt.

"The cheek of the fellow! Enter into relations with... A mean little cad
like this! It would be an impudent intrusion. He wants to enter!... What
is it? A new sort of snobbishness or what?"

I laughed outright at this original view of spiritism--or whatever the
ghost craze is called. Even Bunter himself condescended to smile. But it
was an austere, quickly vanished smile. A man in his almost, I may say,
tragic position couldn't be expected--you understand. He was really
worried. He was ready eventually to put up with any dirty trick in the
course of the voyage. A man could not expect much consideration should
he find himself at the mercy of a fellow like Johns. A misfortune is
a misfortune, and there's an end of it. But to be bored by mean,
low-spirited, inane ghost stories in the Johns style, all the way out
to Calcutta and back again, was an intolerable apprehension to be under.
Spiritism was indeed a solemn subject to think about in that light.