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"Now, boys," said Mr. Hiram B. Otis, upon discovering his sons busily engaged in spreading butter over every inch of the floorboards, "while this is an excellent prank, I must ask that you not do it again; or, if you insist, don't use butter next time. Butter's at least a shilling a pound! Now, of course, I don't know how a shilling stacks up to the good old American dollar, but it sounds like rather a lot." He turned to go back into his room before something occurred to him. "I don't want the servants falling on it, either."
"Yes, father," chorused the twins. It didn't take them long after that to put the finishing touches on their butter masterpiece before scampering back to bed.
Waiting for the ghost to appear was the worst part of their nocturnal pranks. They'd taken to playing euchre while they waited, though their minds were only half on the game. Often they dealt four or six cards instead of five, or failed to follow suit, or had the wrong person lead the next trick; but it hardly mattered. It was just something to pass the time. Since the ghost had started using the Tammany Rising Sun Lubricator, of course, the twins could not hear his approach as easily. They would be able to hear his scream as he slid down the stairs, but that wasn't enough for them. Half the fun came from watching him walk into the trap. Hence, they took turns to get up between rounds of euchre, tiptoe to the door, and peek out into the corridor. Soon they'd abandoned the euchre altogether in favour of sitting in front of the door and listening intently.
Finally, finally, footsteps came down the corridor. They were slow and very quiet, as though made by someone walking with extreme caution. The twins glanced at each other, fingers poised over their mouths in the symbol for quiet. When they could be sure the ghost had walked past their door, they crawled across the floorboards and peered out into the corridor. Even the sight of the ghost walking as though he were a burglar was well worth the lost sleep, but the best was yet to come. Time slowed to a crawl while the boys waited with bated breath.
At last, the ghost set foot on the butter. As cautiously as he was walking, he didn't seem to notice until he put down his other foot. As he wobbled, he shifted his other foot in an attempt to regain his balance. He shrieked as that foot found no purchase. He took a few more frenzied steps, each of his feet sliding out from under him, until he fell. He let out a marvellous yell as his momentum took him bumping down several steps. The boys burst into laughter as the ghost picked himself up and fled down the stairs.
Once the twins had recovered themselves, they got up and hurried down the corridor to the linen closet. They each took up a towel with which to wipe the butter from the floor. Soon they were back in their rooms and under their covers, the buttered towels abandoned on the floor for the servants to deal with.
"This was more serious than the strings across the hallway," one of them whispered, still shivery with triumph. "Do you think he'll come to get us?"
"I hope so," said the other. "We'll have to think up something really bully!"
"Even better than Ye Otis Ghost!"
Late into the night and early into the morning they traded ideas until they settled on the classic trick of water perched atop the door. It may have been old hat to them, but they suspected that the ghost knew nothing about it.
"After all," one of them said scornfully, "no one before us would have pulled it; they were all too scared. Father says the English are fraidy-cats."
"And he wouldn't have pulled it himself!"
"'xactly."
The next morning, the boys went in search of someone tall and strong enough to lift a full jar to the top of their door. Washington was tall enough, but probably not strong enough. The servants who were tall and strong enough didn't want to anger the ghost. The twins' last hope was the stableman.
"Good morning mister!" cried the twins, who hadn't yet acclimated to the hierarchy of family members and staff.
The stableman tossed his pitchforkful of hay into a trough before turning to look at them. "Young Masters Otis. What brings you to the stable?"
"We want your help."
"Could you lift a jar of water onto the top of our door?"
The man's thick eyebrows rose. Speaking slowly, as if choosing each word with care, he said, "May I ask why you'd be wanting to do such a thing?"
"We want to play a trick on the ghost!"
Now, the stableman only entered the manor at mealtimes. He had heard a few whispers about a ghost, but Mrs. Umney didn't encourage such talk; the subject was never lingered upon. He was a very practical man and would not give such whispers credence unless he had seen the ghost with his own eyes. Still, he wasn't sure it was his place to tell the young masters that he didn't believe in something that they did.
"One of the servants might enter the room before the ghost does," he pointed out, "and then where would you be?"
"We-llll," said one, "we could tell 'em not to go in until we say. We can go without clean sheets for a couple of days!" The other nodded his agreement.
"You wouldn't be able to leave until the ghost came in. With no servants..." He let his words trail off. He figured the boys would be smart enough to put together that no one would be changing those chamber pots.
Sure enough, the boys wrinkled their noses.
"I'll tell you what. If your father is alright with it, I'll put the jar up for you." He turned back to the hay, leaving the twins to go back to the manor.
Should they ask their father? It might be the only way they'd get to play the trick. They went up to his office, whisper-arguing about which of them would do the asking.
"Could you lift a water jar onto the top of our door? Please?"
"Please!"
The minister chuckled and shook his head. "Boys, as I said, I don't want to injure the ghost. I'm grateful to him for taking my suggestion and using the Rising Sun Lubricator on those clanking chains."
"You let us do the butter! That probably injured him a little!"
The other one nudged his twin with an elbow and hissed, "Shhh!" To his father, he said, "He probably just bruised his backside."
"And his dignity!" the first one interjected.
"The jar might fall on his head, and head injuries are serious business. Sorry, boys. I can't help you with this trick."
That took care of the stableman possibility, too. They would have had to sneak him in to make sure he wasn't seen by anyone that might tell tales later. If they told him that he had the minister's permission, he wouldn't understand why they'd have to sneak in.
Later that night, the boys enlisted Washington to come help them. They dragged a chair up to the door to make it easier on him to lift the heavy jar. Once it was in place, they realised that Otis couldn't leave the room without triggering the trap.
"Are you strong enough to lift it?" Washington asked, passing the jar down to his brothers. They stepped up onto the chair as he stepped down. They could lift it to chest height, but not above their heads.
"Could we stack a chair on this chair?"
Washington laughed. "I suppose you could try."
It was easy enough to create the chair stack. Lifting the jar proved more difficult. The twin on the ground needed both hands to pass the jar upwards. When he lifted it, his brother leaned forward and down to take it. The chairs wobbled. The one holding the jar couldn't use his hands to steady the stack. All he could do was watch as his brother windmilled his arms in an attempt to regain his balance. One wrong step had him toppling off the stack and into Washington's arms. Danger averted, the three of them burst into laughter.
Washington looked speculatively at the jar of water. "You think this will be a pretty good trick?"
The twins nodded eagerly.
"I should say there's plenty of room for the three of us in your four-poster," he said, looking over at their bed. "What do you think? Should I stay the night?"
The boys cheered.
When they were all ready to retire, Washington came back into their room. He once more stood upon a chair and lifted the jar to the top of the door. The boys enlisted Washington in a game of euchre as they waited for the ghost to appear. As the night dragged on, the twins' lack of sleep began to catch up to them. Washington adjourned to the bed and dozed. The younger boys set down their cards.
"Should we wait in bed?"
"I'd fall asleep."
Soon they worried that they would fall asleep on the floor if they stayed there, and joined Washington on the four-poster. The very next minute, soft footsteps could be heard out in the corridor. They nudged each other and shook Washington awake.
"Hmmgh?" Washington said.
The twins shushed him and pointed at the door. All three of them sat up straight and watched. For a moment, all was quiet as the footsteps stopped. The door flew open. The jar toppled from its place in what seemed like slow motion. Some of the water within sprayed out in an arc before most of it fell on the ghost. The brothers heard only his sharp intake of breath before they were overcome with laughter and heard nothing else. By the time they pulled themselves together and wiped the tears from their eyes, the ghost was gone. One of the twins mopped up the water with a towel. The other picked up the pieces of the broken jar and deposited them in the dustbin under a strategic layer of older refuse.
"Do you think Father heard? It was a loud crash."
"No. His room is so far away. Even if he did, he wouldn't be upset with us for long."
They put out the kerosene lamp and crawled into bed beside Washington. If they hadn't been so tired, they would have started planning their next trick. As it was, they fell asleep almost as soon as their heads met their pillows. At least they were able to dream up their next tricks, literally: they smiled in their sleep as visions of the ghost screaming and fleeing down the corridor ran through their minds.
With any luck, they'd be able to keep pranking the ghost for a long, long time.