Marguerite Snow

If you were a studious man, accustomed to burning the midnight oil, wouldn’t it annoy you if each night at 12 precisely, the ghost of a melancholy maiden appeared, weeping and lamenting? A certain professor was bothered this way. He was not afraid of ghosts and could have endured one whose specialty was silent haunting. He found, however, that the weeping maiden was a nuisance, and prevented him from concentrating. So he decided, ungallant though his conduct might be deemed, to get rid of her.