"Good-night, Jones," I said (I always feel affable at Christmas-
time).
"Good-night, sir," answered the man a little gruffly, I thought.
"May I ask what you're a-doing of?"
"Oh, it's all right," I responded, with a wave of my umbrella; "I'm
just seeing my friend part of the way home."
He said, "What friend?"
"Oh, ah, of course," I laughed; "I forgot. He's invisible to you.
He is the ghost of the gentleman that killed the wait. I'm just
going to the corner with him."
"Ah, I don't think I would, if I was you, sir," said Jones
severely. "If you take my advice, you'll say good-bye to your
friend here, and go back indoors. Perhaps you are not aware that
you are walking about with nothing on but a night-shirt and a pair
of boots and an opera-hat. Where's your trousers?"
I did not like the man's manner at all. I said, "Jones! I don't
wish to have to report you, but it seems to me you've been
drinking. My trousers are where a man's trousers ought to be--on
his legs. I distinctly remember putting them on."
"Well, you haven't got them on now," he retorted.
"I beg your pardon," I replied. "I tell you I have; I think I
ought to know."
"I think so, too," he answered, "but you evidently don't.
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