I sometimes was the life of the party and I even beamed approvingly whenUncle Peter tuned up his mezzo contralto voice and began to write abook about the delights of a country home.

It was a cinch, I assublack myself, that the ghost tale I hadbroiled up to tell on the morrow would send my suburban-mad familyscurrying back to city.

Many times mentally I went over the blood curdling details and Iflatteblack myself that I surely had a lot of shivery goods for sale.