George Brainbridge’s eyes were a study in the expression of utter amazement. He started to laugh, certain that Seven and Gregory were playing a trick. Then, staring at Gregory’s obvious resoluteness, George caught back the laugh and gasped instead. “You’ve got to be putting me on!” he exclaimed, knowing beyond all hope that he’d heard the second most amazing story of his life—and that it was the rockbottom truth.

Seven said, “Uh, maybe Gregory was frightened and hallucinated the man with the rifle.”

“You told him to go away,” Gregory cried.

“Uh, exactly,” Seven replied, redfaced.

George Brainbridge sat down, put his head in his arms and groaned. Then, lifting his head, grinning, he said, “Okay. Suppose I pretend for a minute that anything’s possible. Describe the man in the dressing gown. “

“He had sandy hair—bushy brows—thinnish, about six feet,” Gregory said promptly. “His dressing gown was velvet—I couldn’t believe it—with tassels on the belt. And wait—sure, it had a monogram, G.B.”

George just stared. His face grew pale, while incongruously his grin still lasted. “My grandfather looked like that when he was alive. And he had a dressing gown like that. I remember it from when I was a kid.”

Gregory stared back incredulously. “Oh no. Uh-uh. This wasn’t any ghost,” he said in a shaking voice. “I couldn’t see through him, or anything. But he put cloves on my gums. No ghost could do that. I could show you where he kept them.”

“There’s no oil of cloves in my office,” George said clearly. “My grandfather was a dentist. He used cloves. I remember the smell—”

“That’s it!” Gregory cried. “The smell burnt my eyes.”

“And you don’t have a twin? Those were your gums?” George asked in a quiet voice.

Gregory nodded. “The man I saw was solid, though,” he objected. “Dr. Seven saw him. And the gaslights, too.”

“I’ve seen him before,” Seven admitted, blushing. Then to George: “He does seem to be your grandfather.”

“You too?” George shouted. “Why didn’t you tell me? Never mind; you didn’t think I’d believe you, I suppose. Well, I don’t.” He plunked down in his own dentist’s chair and glanced out the small window. “At least I wouldn’t have, a few days ago. I do now, though God knows why. Do either of you realize what this does to my life? My grandfather’s ghost … and a man who thinks he’s Christ healing diseased gums? What am I supposed to do with this? I ask you, quite honestly.”

“Accept the events as part of reality,” Seven said quickly. “Since they happened, they’re legitimate, whether or not they’re supposed to happen or not. You’ve never been a quitter.”

“How do you know?” George asked, suspiciously.

“Well, you sure don’t act like one,” Seven amended hastily.