Coming forward, with long strides, was Harry Hazelton, in the flesh!
CHAPTER VIII
MR. PRENTER INVESTIGATES
Tom suddenly felt dizzy. He wished to race back, to be the first to greet
his chum and press his hand. But just then Reade felt strangely
bewildered.
"Of course I don't believe in ghosts!" Tom laughed nervously.
"No!" chuckled Mr. Prenter. "This is real flesh and blood that is coming
toward us."
Now, for the first time, Tom Reade knew just how fully he had believed, in
the inner temple of his soul, that Harry Hazelton had been actually killed.
"Pulling my work to pieces, are you, Tom?" Harry called jovially.
"P---p---pardon me for not coming to meet you, old fellow, b---b----but I'm
dumbfounded at seeing you," Tom called back.
Harry, too, looked rather unsteady in his gait by the time he joined them.
The last few yards he tried to run along the wall. Tom thrust out an arm
and caught him just in time.
"You've been hurt, Harry!" gasped Tom.
"Yes, and I guess I'm a bit weak, even now," Hazelton mumbled. "Hurt?
Look at this."
Hazelton uncovered his head, displaying a court-plaster bandage underneath
which clotted blood showed.
"Where in the world have you been?" Tom quivered.
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