Chapter XIX: The House Is Haunted

"Why do ye fash yoursel' so?" demanded Mrs. McCall in growing wonder and exasperation. "Let me see the foolish man."

She approached the window and raised the shade sharply. Then she hoisted the sash itself. But Costello, the junkman, was gone.

"There is naebody here," she complained, looking out on the side porch.

"But he _was_ there! You saw him," faintly declared Agnes.

"He was nae ghost, if that's what you mean," said the housekeeper dryly. "But what and who is he? A junkman? How do you come to know junkmen, lassie?"

"I only know that junkman," explained Agnes.

"Aye?" The housekeeper's eyes as well as her voice was sharp. "And when did you make his acquaintance? Costello, d'you say?"

"So he said his name was. He--he is one of the Gypsies, I do believe!"

"Gypsies! The idea! Is the house surrounded by Gypsies?"

"I don't know, Mrs. McCall," said Agnes faintly. "I only know they are giving us a lot of trouble."

"Who are?"

"The Gypsies."

"Hear the lass!" exclaimed the troubled housekeeper. "Who ever heard the like? Why should Gypsies give us any trouble? Is it that bit bracelet the bairns play wi'? Then throw it out and let the Gypsies have it."

"But that would not be right, would it, Mrs. McCall?" demanded the troubled girl. "If--if the bracelet belongs to them--"

"Hech! To this junkman?"

"He claims it," confessed Agnes.

"Tut, tut! What is going on here that I do not know about?" demanded the Scotch woman with deeper interest.

She closed the window, drew the shade again, and returned to her seat. She stared at Agnes rather sternly over her glasses.

"Come now, my lass," said the housekeeper, "what has been going on so slyly here? I never heard of any Costello, junkman or not. Who is he? What does he want, peering in at a body's windows at night?"

Agnes told the whole story then--and managed to tell it clearly enough for the practical woman to gain a very good idea of the whole matter.

"Of course," was her comment, grimly said, "you and that Neale could not let well enough alone. You never can. If you had not advertised the bit bracelet, this junkman would not have troubled you."

"But we thought it ought to be advertised," murmured Agnes in defense.

"Aye, aye! Ye thought mooch I've nae doot. And to little good purpose. Well, 'tis a matter for Mr. Howbridge now, sure enough. And what he'll say--"

"But I hope that Costello does not come to the house again," ventured the girl, in some lingering alarm.

"You or Neale go to Mr. Howbridge's clerk in the morning and tell him. He should tell the police of this crazy man. A Gypsy, too, you say?"

"I think he must be. The bracelet seems to be a bone of contention between two branches of the Gypsy tribe. If it belonged to that old Queen Alma--"

"Fiddle-faddle!" exclaimed the housekeeper. "Who ever heard of a queen among those dirty Gypsies? 'Tis foolishness."

The fact that Costello, the junkman, was lingering about the old Corner House was not to be denied. They saw him again before bedtime. Uncle Rufus had gone to bed and Linda was so easily frightened that Mrs. McCall did not want to tell her.

So the housekeeper grabbed a broom and started out on the side porch with the avowed intention of "breaking the besom over the chiel's head!" But the lurker refused to be caught and darted away into the shadows. And all without making a sound, or revealing in any way what his intention might be.

Mrs. McCall and the trembling Agnes went all about the house, locking each lower window, and of course all the doors. Tom Jonah, the old Newfoundland dog, slept out of doors these warm nights, and sometimes wandered away from the premises.

"We ought to have Buster, Sammy Pinkney's bulldog, over here. Then that horrid man would not dare come into the yard," Agnes said.

"You might as well turn that old billy-goat loose," sniffed Mrs. McCall. "He'd do little more harm than that bull pup--and nae more good, either."

They went to bed--earlier than usual, perhaps. And that may be the reason why Agnes could not sleep. She considered the possibility of Costello's climbing up the porch posts to the roof, and so reaching the second story windows.

"If he is going to haunt the house like this," Agnes declared to the housekeeper in the morning, "let us make Neale come here and stay at night."

"That lad?" returned the housekeeper, who had no very exalted opinion of boys in any case--no more than had Ruth. "Haven't we all troubles enough, I want to know? This is a case for the police. You go tell Mr. Howbridge's clerk about the Gypsy, that is what you do."

But Agnes would not do even that without taking Neale into her confidence. Neale at once was up in arms when he heard of the lurking junkman. He declared he would come over and hide in the closet on the Kenways' back porch and try to catch the man if he appeared again at night.

"He is a very strong man, Neale," objected Agnes. "And he might have a knife, too. You know, those Gypsies are awfully fierce-tempered."

"I don't know that he is," objected Neale. "He looked to me like just plain crazy."

"Well, you come down to the office with me," commanded Agnes. "I don't even want to meet that excitable Costello man on the street when I am alone."

"I suppose you are scared, Aggie. But I don't think he would really hurt you. Come on!"

So they went down to Mr. Howbridge's office again and interviewed the clerk, telling him first of all of the appearance of the junkman the night before.

"I had fairly to drive him out of these offices," said the clerk. "He is of a very excitable temperament, to say the least. But I did not think there was any real harm in him."

"Just the same," Neale objected, "he wants to keep away from the house and not frighten folks at night."

"Oh, we will soon stop that," said Mr. Howbridge's representative. "I will report it to the police."

"But perhaps he does not mean any harm," faltered Agnes.

"I do not think he does," said the man. "Nevertheless, we will warn him."

This promise relieved Agnes a good deal. She was tender-hearted and she did not wish the junkman arrested. But when evening came and he once more stared in at the windows, and tapped on the panes, and wandered around and around the house--

"Well, this is too much!" cried the girl, when Neale and Mrs. McCall both ran out to try to apprehend the marauder. "I do wish we had a telephone. I am going to _beg_ Ruth to have one put in just as soon as she comes back. We could call the police and they would catch that man."

Perhaps the police, had they been informed, might have caught Costello. But Mrs. McCall and Neale did not. The latter remained until the family went to bed and then the boy did a little lurking in the bushes on his own account. But he did not spy the strange man again.

In the morning, without saying anything to the Kenway family about it, Neale O'Neil set out to find Costello, the junkman. He certainly was not afraid of the man by daylight. He had had experience with him.

From Mr. Howbridge's clerk he had already obtained the address the junkman had given when he was at the office. The place was down by the canal in the poorer section of the town, of course.

There were several cellars and first-floors of old houses given up to ragpickers and dealers in junk of all kinds. After some inquiry among a people who quite evidently were used to dodging the answering of incriminating questions, Neale learned that there had been a junkman living in a certain room up to within a day or two before, whose name was Costello. But he had disappeared. Oh, yes! Neale's informant was quite sure that Costello had gone away for good.

"But he had a horse and wagon. He had a business of his own. Where has he gone?" demanded the boy.

He was gone. That was all these people would tell him. They pointed out the old shed where Costello had kept his horse. Was it a good horse? It was a good looking horse, with smiles which seemed to indicate that Costello was a true Gypsy and was not above "doctoring" a horse into a deceiving appearance of worthiness.

"He drove away with that horse. He did not say where he was going. I guess he go to make a sale, eh? He will come back with some old plug that he make look fine, eh?"

This was the nearest to real information that Neale could obtain, and this from a youth who worked for one of the established junk dealers.

So Neale had to give up the inquiry as useless. When he came back to the old Corner House he confessed to Agnes:

"He is hiding somewhere, and coming around here after dark. Wish I had a shotgun--"

"Oh, Neale! How wicked!"

"Loaded with rock-salt," grinned the boy. "A dose of that might do the Gyp. a world of good."