The Live Ghost1934

Oliver:
[in a scoffing exasperated tone, after having searched the entire deck of the ship without finding a trace of any ghosts - - the whitewash-covered sailor HAD, in fact, re-boarded the ship and staggered back to the bunk-room and slipped into Laurel and Hardy's bunk which he drunkenly mistook for his own bunk, but he had taken a different route from where Hardy and Laurel were looking, and so neither of them had happened to see him. And Hardy doesn't know that Laurel - - not wanting to be left alone in the bunkroom while there was a ''ghost'' about - - had fearfully followed Hardy out of the bunkroom, so Hardy assumes that the lump in the bunk is Laurel] GHOSTS! You make me sick! You'll make me catch my DEATH OF COLD looking for GHOSTS! [climbs irritably up into the bunk beside the sailor without uncovering him, and pulls his own blankets up] One of these days you're gonna let your imagination run AMUCK!

Stanley:
[still standing outside on the deck, timidly climbs up to peer warily in through the window next to the bunk]

Oliver:
[seeing Laurel through the window right next to him, and so thinking absent-mindedly that Laurel is in the bunk beside him] In the first place, there's no such thing as a GHOST! You heard what the Captain said! He - - [suddenly realizes that something about Laurel's appearance doesn't look quite right, and so he reaches out to feel Laurel's face, but touches the glass window instead. Then, with a puzzled and slightly apprehensive, ''Well, if Laurel's outside, then who is THIS in the bunk beside me?'' expression, Hardy then reaches down and pulls back the cover beside him, revealing the drunken sailor, who sits up casually and salutes affably]

Drunken sailor:
HI!

Oliver:
[shrieking in terror along with Laurel, then diving out of the bunk and landing in an untidy heap on the floor] AAAAHHHHOOOOWHHH! OH-HOH-HOH-HOH! [lurches back up on his feet and crashes through the solid bunk-room door like it's made of thin veneer]

Stanley:
[sees the ghastly-faced drunken sailor through the window, and so he also screams in his typical high-pitched whimpery way and follows Hardy as he dashes wildly across the deck]

Drunken sailor:
[sitting up in drowsy drunken bewilderment] Whutch-s'matter?