The sociable ghost Being the adventures of a reporter who was invited by the sociable ghost to a grand banquet, ball, and convention under the ground of old Trinity churchyard. A true tale of the things he saw and did not see while he was not there.
philosophic nature, and very adaptable, and soon became quite content
here, for if there are some drawbacks, there are some compensations
too.”
“What are they?” asked the reporter hastily, and not remembering that he
was departing from his usual custom.
“Well, the greatest is—speaking generally, you know—that you can do no
more wrong, and that you must progress, for nothing in nature can
retrograde. We feel that we may advance in the scale of the great plan,
and that our powers of evil are null, so we can hope. We do not know
what we can hope for, but we are not hindered from hoping that there is
something to hope for. But, the old desires, old frailties die hard and
slow. But, all that is not the story of my misery. I came down here, and
for a long time had no special trouble, and met in convention twice. I
tried to study out all I saw, until one night I saw my neighbor whose
funeral I had so unintentionally desecrated. He had been removed to
another cemetery nearer and so was here as a guest.
“As soon as he saw me he acted as if he had been suddenly restored to all
the vigor of life, and its animosity, for he followed me around all the
evening until he found me in a corner studying the sculpture on one of
the pillars. He knocked me down and jumped on me and kicked me until it
is a wonder how I have a whole bone left. I could have tied any other
bones on, but how could I tie without hands? I am sure that if he had
given me the opportunity to explain how this unhappy affair had come
about he would feel sorry that he was so rough. But he wouldn't listen
and so he will never know.”
“Yes, he will,” said a voice right behind them, and as the reporter and
the armless ghost turned together they saw another ghost, and he
continued his unexpected conversation.
“I have heard your story, sir; and regret that I was so violent. I was
exasperated beyond measure, as I was always a great stickler for strict
decorum, and I was not to blame if I thought you did that on purpose.”
The armless ghost was so affected that he would have fallen had not the
other put his arms around him, and the chances for a complete
reconciliation were so good that the reporter felt himself de trop and
silently slipped away.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE GRAND BALL, CONVENTION AND END OF IT ALL
After the young man left the reunited friends he strolled along a
little, and saw a man whom he had noticed two or three times on account
of his height and the gloomy bend of his head. He stood with his arms
crossed moodily over his breast and the reporter thought that perhaps
there was some new phrase of misery indicated in this morose and gloomy
attitude. The newspaper man edged along near him and bowing, said:
“This is a very pleasant reunion, is it not?”
“This is your first visit here, is it not?” answered the ghost somewhat
irrelevantly.
“It is,” replied he, thinking at the same time that it should be his
last.
“I suppose you are greatly amused,” said the ghost, who, the young man
now noticed, was lame and limped painfully as he moved around to keep
out of the way of the dancers.
“Well, not exactly amused,” answered the young man doubtfully.
“We will say entertained, then,” said the lame ghost. “You may have
noticed that I do not dance, nor can I walk about like others. I do not
think I would make a good figure. I have a misfit leg.”
“I—I—beg your pardon,” stammered the young man confused between
curiosity and the fear of wounding the sensibilities of the ghost.
“Just so,” resumed the ghost. “A misfit leg. Indeed I think it belongs
to that young lady over there. But, as I see that she is provided with
another, and I can manage to walk with this, I do not like to mortify
her by mentioning it. You must admit that it would be very unpleasant
for the young lady in company, now wouldn't it?”
“Would it be considered rude of me to ask how so deplorable an accident
occurred?” asked the reporter with much interest.
“Certainly not,” replied the ghost with a Chesterfieldian bow. “It was
just this way. I was a Van Der Dam, and I have been dead a long time.
First I was buried in a little graveyard away down town, and all the
dead were moved from there to make place for the leather trade
warehouses, and we were taken to another cemetery that was so far from
the business section that we thought we were to stay there forever. But,
in a few years we had to get up and go on again. In a short time that
land was wanted for building purposes, and I was removed again to
another place so far out that it was thought no one would ever require
that land, I am sure you have seen that place, for it was where the old
and well-liked Metropolitan Hotel was afterwards built. And just to
think! The trustees of Trinity Corporation once had the offer of a gift
of six acres of land on the corner of Canal Street and Broadway, and
refused it, thinking the expense of fencing it too great, and that it
was so far from the city that it would cost more for taxes than it was
worth. What those six acres are worth now must mount up to millions.
“It was swampy, and we were not so very comfortable in this place, and
we were not sorry when the order came to move us so they could build the
hotel, which is but a memory now, with a big business house in its
place. Many of my friends lie in unsuspected spots about that
neighborhood yet.
“When the foundation for the hotel was dug many of us were discovered,
and they took the bones and threw them into a cart in one big box, and
held an inquest over the lot, and carted them away, and I do not know
where they put them. I was moved from there to another place right in
the heart of the retail dry goods district. We were put in a Protestant
cemetery and right opposite was an old Jewish graveyard. No money
consideration had ever been powerful enough to get this spot, nor any
other Jewish cemetery, for business. Stores have been built up all
around it. A friend of mine lies right under a water butt, for our
graves were crowded as much as possible. That is a very unpleasant
location. You must admit that.”
The newspaper man did admit it, and condoled with the ghost, who kept
his head bent always in sign of hopeless sorrow. He continued:
“When the march of progress reached as high as this place we had to get
up again and go further so that a street could be cut through. A half
brother of mine lost his head during the confusion resulting from this
removal, and has never found it after that exodus. I suppose that head
and the other fellow’s body must have got together somehow, for my half
brother found a head, but it does not fit, and the mental calibre cannot
compare with that of my half brother.”
“I should like to know, if it pleases you to tell me, which portion of a
person’s anatomy is the seat of the spirit or soul, or whatever you say
when you wish to designate the human intelligence, and the spirit as I
see it here to-night? I can scarcely formulate my meaning, but it seems
to me that it is all that part of you that I see here to-night, and that
seems to have all the intelligence of your living selves. Some of you
appear to have all your faculties, can eat and drink and show a certain
degree of physical force, and I cannot understand anything about it.
Now, you mentioned the misfortune of your brother, and I am at a loss to
know which is the most of him, his head that another wears, or the body
which bears a head not his own. Which, in short, is your brother? The
head without his body or his body without a head?”
“My dear sir, you raise a serious question there, and one very difficult
to answer. All I can say is that I think my brother must be leading what
you call a double life. His body acts as it always did, but there is a
total lack of sequence in his conversation. I fairly hate to hear him
speak. He is always declaring that the world is coming to an end. Now,
what does he or any one know about the end of the world, when we do not
know anything of the beginning of it, not even the scientists.”
“The Bible says—” began the young man.
“Yes; and science says—Life is too short to go into those questions, and
we might better talk of the present.”
The young man took the hint and said:
“You were speaking of your several removals.”
“Yes, and in each one I suffered, but it was after my removal from this
last-mentioned place that the worst of my misfortunes befell me. We were
moved to another burying ground about two miles further out of town. We
were all beginning to feel at home and quite sociable, when it became
necessary to grade the place and cut streets through. They cut the
street through and left my coffin sticking out about two feet, and alas!
I have never had two feet to stick out since.
“You see, my coffin was over a hundred years old, and it all crumbled
away, and that is how I lost my foot. It was as solid and handsome a leg
as you would wish to see, but the rascal who moved us broke up our
coffins, and threw me into a dirty cart with a score of fellow
sufferers, and were dumped into one hole, all in a heap. Somehow in the
transportation my fine leg was lost, from the knee downward, and as if
this was not enough, as I was the last one I had to take this and do the
best I can with it. And, there sits the young lady, who, I am sure, has
my leg, and this is probably hers, as I am sure that this is a woman's
leg, it is so very small.”
The newspaper man thought just as the ghost did, for not for worlds
would he have dared to disagree with one of the ghosts down here in the
bowels of the world. The ghost continued:
“It is impossible to portray the mental agony which one of my size and
build experiences as he is obliged to go limping along in disgraceful
manner, and I assure you that my everlasting gratitude would be given to
the person who could relieve me of this hideous deformity.”
“Why do you not go to the young lady and ask her frankly if she has not
got a leg that does not belong to her? If so, she would doubtless be
glad to make the exchange, and perhaps you will never have the
opportunity again. You would know if it is really your leg, would you
not? If her leg is too small for you your leg must be much too large for
her, and she would appreciate the exchange.”
“Young sir, I do not know how a young lady of the present day would take
such a thing, but I assure you I would rather go through all eternity
lame than to so sully the purity of a young girl's mind as to say leg to
her, No, no; I must bear it as best I can.”
“Oh, I say! What is the matter with my going to speak to her and see
what she says? I will try to get the leg for you to try on, and if it is
yours you can give me hers, and I am sure she will be as glad as you. I
see she taps her own foot to the music, and I do not doubt that she is
as anxious to dance as can be, and she cannot on account of this
misfortune.”
“If it could be so arranged that she would not know who it was that
asked the change, I would be willing for you to try. That is, on
condition that you will be as delicate as you possibly can, and we have
not much time to work in for as soon as those who like to dance have
enjoyed that pleasure we are to hold a short convention, and after that
we go outside. But, it would be a great comfort.”
The young man sauntered toward the young lady and noticed that she tried
to hide the long leg and big foot behind her chair, and he felt
emboldened, and addressed her:
“Fair lady, I beg your pardon in advance for what I am about to say, and
I beg you to believe that I mean no disrespect, but as time presses and
there are a few more dances on the programme, I must tell you the story
of another's misfortune, so that you may understand the case.”
Then he hastily told her the whole story of the lost leg, and by