I turned. Mr. Armitage was laughing. At first it seemed that he was endeavouring to restrain his mirth, but, as I continued to stare, it gathered force until it became a veritable roar. His example was contagious. Suddenly Mr. Burchell burst into peals of merriment. And directly he began the Mephistophelian stranger, bending double, sank back upon the seat and indulged in laughter to such an immoderate extent that I really thought that there was imminent danger that he would crack his sides. As I gazed at this amazing spectacle I daresay that, from one point of view, which was not mine, the expression of my face was comical enough. Was I going off my head? Or had fate destined me to journey down to Brighton in the society of lunatics?
"Oh, man!" gasped Mr. Burchell between his bursts of laughter, "don't look like that, or I shall die!"
I endeavoured, doubtless quite ineffectually, to assume an imposing attitude.
"Perhaps, gentlemen, when you have quite finished, you will condescend to favour me with an explanation of this extraordinary scene."
"If I'm not a ghost!" screamed the Mephistophelian stranger.
And off they all went again.
"There may be something comical in the present situation, and perhaps it is owing to some constitutional defect that I altogether fail to see it—but I don't!"
"Oh, man!" Mr. Burchell gasped again, "don't talk like that or you will kill me." All at once he rose and clapped me on the shoulder. "Why, don't you see it's all a joke?"
