The Book of Dreams and Ghosts

"What on earth are you talking about? I can understand a man attended by black dogs that nobody sees but himself. The Catholics tell it of John Knox, and of another Reformer, a fellow called Smeaton. Moreover, it is common in delirium tremens. But you say Bolter didn't see the dogs?" "No, not so far as he told me, but I did, and other fellows, when with Bolter. Bolter was asleep; he didn't see anything. Also the Hand, which was a good deal worse. I don't know if he ever saw it. But he was jolly nervous, and he had heard of it." The habits of the Beach-comber are absolutely temperate, otherwise my astonishment would have been less, and I should have regarded all these phenomena as subjective. "Tell me about it all, old cock," I said. "I'm sure I told you last time I was at home." "Never; my memory for yarns is only too good. I hate a chestnut." "Well, here goes! Mind you I don't profess to explain the thing; only I don't think I did wrong in telling the young woman, for, however you account for it, it was not nice." "A good many years ago there came to the island, as a clerk, un nomme Bolter, English or Jew." "His name is not Jewish." "No, and I really don't know about his breed. The most curious thing about his appearance was his eyes: they were large, black, and had a peculiar dull dead lustre." "Did they shine in the dark? I knew a fellow at Oxford whose eyes did. Chairs ran after him."