realizing he spoke aloud.

"Aye, aye," said a voice. "Poor Wully MacGreggor. As a ghost in good standing, a dues-paying member of Asmodeus Local of the United Lighthouse Haunters of America, Wully never done nothin' to deserve this. Evicted! Got a smoke, matey?"

Jerry Masterson did a double-take. Out of reflex courtesy, he proffered a cigarette and was about to strike a match when his companion reached slightly to the left, where several coals glowed in mid-air. Selecting one, the stranger said, "Thank you, Junior. You can go now." He turned, lit Jerry's cigarette and his own.

"All right, joker," said Jerry. "Show me how you did it and I'll show you a couple of card tricks and a disappearing penny routine."

"Later," said the stranger. "Right now, matey, my sails is draggin' and I need spiritual reinforcement—liquid. And you're buying."

"There's a fifth of Scotch in my studio, but I'm not pouring for any phony tricksters. I've been saving it till I sold a canvas."

"Scotch," sighed the stranger ecstatically. "Shades of the Loch Ness Monster! Quit scratching, Gertrude."

"Gertrude?"

"My cat—she's black. A handsome beastie if you overlook a hole in her head. A twenty-two caliber hole. Gertrude, materialize for the nice man."

Nothing happened, and Jerry diplomatically sought to ease a situation that was rapidly becoming embarrassing. "Maybe she's bashful."

"Not Gertrude. Just temperamental. She could materialize if she wanted to. She doesn't want to. Now take Junior...."

"Junior?"

"He's the conscientious type. Tries too hard, poor boy."

"About that Scotch," said Jerry. "You don't think maybe a couple of cups of black coffee...."

The stranger's face registered horror—and trust betrayed. "For shame, laddie. To be insulted in my darkest hour! Me, Captain Wully MacGreggor!"

"Sure. You're Wully MacGreggor—and I'm Napoleon."

"Watch."

 Prev. P 2/14 next