human
I say, Cresswell, said he, one morning, as the senior and his fag walked back from the
gpt
Tub.
human
Who was Forbes?
gpt
Never mind,
human
Heathcote asked me, he said.
gpt
He's Pledge's fag, and everybody says to him he'll come to grief like Forbes; and he doesn't know what they mean.
human
You gave your chum my message, did you?
gpt
Oh, yes; and, do you know, the other evening he had a letter thrown into him, he doesn't know where from, saying the same thing?
human
Was it signed 'Junius,' and done up in a ball?
gpt
Yes. Did _you_ send it?
human
And was it in printed letters, so that nobody could tell the writing?
gpt
Yes. Do you know about it, I say?
human
No, said Cresswell;
gpt
The what?
human
The Templeton ghost, my boy.
gpt
I don't believe in ghosts,
human
That's all right. No more do I. But those who do, say its a bad sign to get a letter from ours. Forbes got one early last term.
gpt
Do you really mean--?
human
I mean, said Cresswell, interrupting him, and evidently not enjoying the topic,
gpt
I mean that nobody knows who writes the letters, or why. It's been a mystery ever since I came here, three years ago. It happens sometimes twice or thrice a term; and other times perhaps only once in six months.
human
What had Heathcote better do?
gpt
Do! He'd better read the letter. There's no use going and flourishing it all round the school.