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great curtain had fallen after the pantomime, and I was standing chatting on the stage of the theatre at Cambridge when one of the stage men came to tell me I was wanted at the stage door and I must hurry up at once. Thither I proceeded, and found a lot of golfing boys, hunting boys, dramatic boys, and all sorts of other merry 'Varsity boys, who shouted out "Come along quick to the Blue Pig" (the "Blue Pig" is a Cambridge name for the Blue Boar Hotel), "we want you to meet a fellow called Willie Carson, and there is to be supper, and he has something to tell us. The 'Bogie Man' has gone on there now, so come right away."

Well, off we went to the Blue Boar Hotel, and we found Carson sitting over a blazing fire, with a capital supper set in his nice old-fashioned room, lit up with candles only, the picture of comfort—outside it was snowing hard and bitterly cold.

After a talk over the merits of the pantomime, we did full justice to a most excellent supper, and then crowded round the blazing hearth to hear a story our host wanted to tell us.

"Did you ever hear of the Phantom Coach at St Andrews?" he asked, turning to me suddenly and removing his cigar.

"Often," I replied, "I have heard most extraordinary yarns about it from lots of people; but why do you ask?"

"Because I've seen it," he replied, softly and thoughtfully. "Some five years ago, it was very, very strange, not to be forgotten and quite unexplainable; that is why I asked you here to-night. I wanted to talk to you about it." He stooped over the fire and was silent for a few minutes.

"Tell us all about it," we all shouted at once, "we won't make fun of it."