“Well, McNason, how do you feel after your airship voyage?” it inquired—“A bit air-sick?”
Here the howling voices grew fiercer and more shrill,—and yet the alarmed Josiah could see nothing. He felt desperately inclined to take hold of the Goblin’s claw for protection.
“What—what’s that?” he stammered.
“Only Church!” replied the Goblin—“Firebrand is a strong preacher! He ‘draws’ like a magnet—or a dentist. There’s always a crowded congregation to hear him.”
Church!—a strong preacher!—a crowdedcongregation! McNason stared and stared, seeing nothing but the Green Pulpit and empty space, till all at once the Goblin took off its conical cap and with the tasselled point of that headgear touched his eyes. Then—then—oh, then! But who can describe that “then”! Who in mere words can picture the amazing scene disclosed of which he, Josiah McNason, was a part, and to which he seemed to be the only human witness! All round him, in front of him and behind him were Goblins,—Goblins big, Goblins little, Goblins fat, Goblins lean, Goblins straight, Goblins crooked—Goblins of every imaginable size and shape—Goblins of every possible distortion or monstrosity that ever appeared on the pages of a child’s fairy book, were here in their scores, and all attired in the queerest motley. Some wore women’s enormous hats trimmed with fantastic bows of ribbon and big waggling plumes,—others had coloured caps like those which are put into very cheap Christmascrackers,—some were decked out with flashy tiaras and crowns that looked as if they were cut out of tin-foil,—others again had their strange sticky hair dressed as high as surely an hair, sticky or otherwise, could go, and surmounted with fantastic wreaths and garlands of bright coloured flowers apparently made of paper, under which they minced and grinned like female gymnasts at a rough country fair,—and all of them were jostling, pushing, squeezing, and crowding together, each one taking a seemingly mischievous delight in trying to elbow its neighbour out of place. It was a fearsome sight!—and still more fearsome did it become when a great ball of fire suddenly bounced down from Nowhere and burst with a loud report at the foot of the Green Pulpit, where, spreading out a peacock’s tail of vivid flame, it lit up the wicked livid colour of that edifice with blinding brilliancy. Josiah McNason’s soul froze within him. He was dead, he thought!—he must be dead!
In a swooning access of speechless terror he clung to the Goblin, and was in a vague way comforted when it tucked its hairy arm through his and leered at him quite amicably.
“Don’t be nervous, McNason!” it said, “It’s all right! Firebrand always likes the electricity turned on when he preaches! He’s the ‘star’ actor of the piece, you see,—the light must show him up more than anyone else. There he is!”
Josiah gazed at the Green Pulpit in quaking awe and aversion as a black figure suddenly sprang up in it like a jack-in-the-box,—a tall, lanky, clothes-prop sort of shape, with a head like a large mop, from which the hair, of a fiery red, hung down in disordered tangles. This Goblin’s best feature consisted in its attire, which was of a double-dyed inkiness, with a wonderfully smooth and silky ‘shine’ upon it, suggestive of black-lead. It was an unfortunate costume, however, so far as concerned itsbecomingness to the face of its wearer,—a face white as a bleached bone, with prominent eyes which appeared to goggle out of their cavernous sockets like pebbles rolling each on the edge of a hole,—and the sable clothing of the creature only intensified the awful pallor of its countenance, and brought out its worst points into the strongest possible relief. McNason had barely time to notice these details, which seemed to be insistently forced upon his attention, when his ears were again assailed by renewed howling and screeching, accompanied by a tremendous sound of drums, as if all the drummers that were ever born were drumming their way through the world. Every Goblin had a protuberant paunch,—and as “the Reverend Mr. Firebrand” arose in the pulpit they all started together beating a prolonged tattoo upon these appendages to their otherwise skeleton forms. And ever over the frightful noise rang the Bells!—always the Bells!—theBells of Christmas,—the Bells of peace and goodwill! Do, re, mi,FA!—Sol, la, si—DO! Ding-dong!—ding-dong! Swinging and swaying, the echoes rose and fell—and in the midst of the pulsating chimes, the Goblins burst into a chorus of wild shouting—
“Firebrand!—Ha ha!”
“Good old Firebrand!”
“Order, order! Silence for Firebrand!”
“Ha-ha,HA! Ha-HA!”
“Firebrand! Hoo-roo! Hoo-roo!”
And then—as though they had been all clashed together by one stroke into silence—the Bells ceased. The shouting and laughter and Paunch-drumming of the Goblins likewise eddied away into a dull murmur—and the Goblin in the Green Pulpit raised a skeleton hand with the first-finger-bone elevated as a signal for attention.
“My friends!” it began—“My dear brethren——!”
“Ha-HA! Ha-ha-HA!”
And the crowd of uncanny creatures twisted and writhed with ecstasy, tossing their queerly decorated heads about, and spreading their wide mouths into elastic grins which seemed to swallow up all the rest of their faces. As if in sympathy with the general hilarity, the “Reverend Mr. Firebrand” grinned also—a peculiar and very ghastly grin indeed.
“My friends!” he or It resumed—“How good it is for us all to be here! What a sign of regeneration——!”
“Ha-ha-HA!”
“Of penitence——”
“Ha-ha!”
“Of unselfishness and charity——”
“Ha-ha-ha!”
“Of hope for the future——”
“Hoo-roo! Hoo-roo!”
“Of everything beautiful, pleasant, and truthful! Oh, how good it is to know that we are thus assembled together, and that we have among us a Human Creature,unlike, yet so like ourselves! Oh, my dear friends! ‘Lest we forget,’ let us remember that we were all Humans once! All Humans!—all Humbugs!—and such respectable Humbugs too! Oh, my friends, let us turn our thoughts back along the tide of Time—the tide of Time is such a fine expression!—and reflect on those days—the days of frock-coats and top-hats! The days when we wereGOOD!”
“Ha-ha-HA! Hoo-roo! Hoo-roo!”
Screams of laughter echoed through the dim space, where now, faintly discernible through a floating red vapour, the trembling Josiah caught sight of the glittering tubes of a great organ, and scarcely had he seen this whenCRASH!—went the keys with a droning and discordant thunder. A hideous black scarecrow of a Goblin, waving its paws or claws about fantastically, began performing on the instrument, whereat all the impish congregation burst out yelling in chorus:
“WhenWEwere ‘good,’ in all the worldNone were so ‘good’ asWE;WethoughtOURSELVESthe only onesWhose souls would savèdBE!—WhenWEwere ‘good’ our neighbours allWe found so veryBAD,That onlyUS, and onlyWESome little MoralsHAD!“WhenWEwere ‘good,’ we went to Church,That every one might seeHow ‘good’ we were,—much better farThan other folks could be!—We slandered all our dearest friends,Told all the lies we could,And chose our own front seats in Heaven,Because we were so ‘good’!“And now we find that other folksWhom we thought veryBAD,Were better thanOURSELVESat best,AndALLthe MoralsHAD!And sad to say, we’ve lived to learn,That shuffle as we would,NoHUMBUGlasts in Heaven or HellNot even—‘BEING GOOD’!”
“WhenWEwere ‘good,’ in all the worldNone were so ‘good’ asWE;WethoughtOURSELVESthe only onesWhose souls would savèdBE!—WhenWEwere ‘good’ our neighbours allWe found so veryBAD,That onlyUS, and onlyWESome little MoralsHAD!“WhenWEwere ‘good,’ we went to Church,That every one might seeHow ‘good’ we were,—much better farThan other folks could be!—We slandered all our dearest friends,Told all the lies we could,And chose our own front seats in Heaven,Because we were so ‘good’!“And now we find that other folksWhom we thought veryBAD,Were better thanOURSELVESat best,AndALLthe MoralsHAD!And sad to say, we’ve lived to learn,That shuffle as we would,NoHUMBUGlasts in Heaven or HellNot even—‘BEING GOOD’!”
“WhenWEwere ‘good,’ in all the worldNone were so ‘good’ asWE;WethoughtOURSELVESthe only onesWhose souls would savèdBE!—WhenWEwere ‘good’ our neighbours allWe found so veryBAD,That onlyUS, and onlyWESome little MoralsHAD!
“WhenWEwere ‘good,’ in all the world
None were so ‘good’ asWE;
WethoughtOURSELVESthe only ones
Whose souls would savèdBE!—
WhenWEwere ‘good’ our neighbours all
We found so veryBAD,
That onlyUS, and onlyWE
Some little MoralsHAD!
“WhenWEwere ‘good,’ we went to Church,That every one might seeHow ‘good’ we were,—much better farThan other folks could be!—We slandered all our dearest friends,Told all the lies we could,And chose our own front seats in Heaven,Because we were so ‘good’!
“WhenWEwere ‘good,’ we went to Church,
That every one might see
How ‘good’ we were,—much better far
Than other folks could be!—
We slandered all our dearest friends,
Told all the lies we could,
And chose our own front seats in Heaven,
Because we were so ‘good’!
“And now we find that other folksWhom we thought veryBAD,Were better thanOURSELVESat best,AndALLthe MoralsHAD!And sad to say, we’ve lived to learn,That shuffle as we would,NoHUMBUGlasts in Heaven or HellNot even—‘BEING GOOD’!”
“And now we find that other folks
Whom we thought veryBAD,
Were better thanOURSELVESat best,
AndALLthe MoralsHAD!
And sad to say, we’ve lived to learn,
That shuffle as we would,
NoHUMBUGlasts in Heaven or Hell
Not even—‘BEING GOOD’!”
Renewed yelping, and “hoo-roos” of diabolical laughter followed this vocal effort, and the miserable Josiah McNasonfelt cold trickles of perspiration running down his back as he listened. Yet he could not speak. Speech for the moment was taken from him,—he tried to utter some word—some ejaculation,—but his tongue was stiffened in his mouth as though it were paralysed. And he was forced to pay close attention to the “Reverend Mr. Firebrand” whether he liked it or not.
“Oh my friends!” pursued that grim and ghastly preacher—“How I thank you for that beautiful hymn! How sweetly it expresses our innermost feelings! Does it not, my friends? Oh yes, indeed it does! And our brother here—our Human brother—does it not expresshisfeelings likewise? Yes—oh yes!—indeed it does!”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha! Ha-HA!” shrieked the Goblins—“Indeed it does! Ha-HA!”
“Our Human brother,” went on “Mr. Firebrand”—“is a ‘good’ man——”
“Hoo-oo! Hoo-roo!—Hoo—oo!”
“A ‘good’ man because, my friends, hehas made Money! Money is Morals,—Morals are Money! Our Human brother is a rich man,—therefore virtuous. Virtue, as you all know, consists in being rich,—Vice in being poor. Our Human brother is also a wise man. Wisdom consists in looking after Number One. He does that! He has always done it admirably! Number One is to him the centre of the universe. And we sympathise with him, do we not, my friends? Oh yes, oh yes, we do! For we also, in former days—we also looked after Number One. Not One Timothy Two! No—no! One Self One! That was our text in life. And we acted up to it, did we not, my friends? Oh yes, we did—we did! We should not be here now if we had not looked after Number One!”
“Hoo-roo!—oh—oh—Hoo-roo!”
And the wild cry had a dismal note in it this time like the shriek of the wailing wind.
“Again, my friends,”—went on theGoblin “Firebrand,”—“Our Human brother is a charitable man. We all know what charity is, do we not? Oh yes, we do! Charity begins at home! Charity never gives a penny away unless it can get something for itself out of the bargain! Charity never subscribes to anything unless it can see its name printed on a subscription list! That’s Charity, my friends!—asWEunderstand it—as our Human brother understands it! The Charity which distinguishedUSwhen we,—like our Human brother,—wore frock-coats and top-hats on Sundays, was a charity which suffered nothing and was never kind,—envied everybody,—vaunted itself greatly,—was always puffed up,—often behaved itself unseemly,—sought its own,—was easily provoked,—thought evil of most things,—rejoiced in iniquity,—hated the truth,—bore nothing,—believed nothing,—hoped nothing,—endured nothing! This is the Charity of Human Nature—material Human Nature!—and ourHuman brother is a glorious living example of it! Soon—oh yes!—very soon!—our charitable Human brother will give twenty thousand pounds to a hospital. How generous! How noble! The poor and sick will benefit,—but our Human brother will not be left out in the cold! Oh no! He will buy a Peerage with the money and also with an additional ‘little diplomacy.’ And he will be a lord!—oh my brethren, how great a thing it is to be a lord! Do we not know this? Yes, indeed, indeed we do! Some of us have been lords, and some of us have been commons. Both sets have their advantages. But when one is a lord, one can do so much! One can become the ‘noble’ director of bogus ‘Companies,’ and pocket a fee for attendance at every meeting! And one can owe bills to one’s tailor for an indefinite period! And one can sell one’s self and one’s ‘nobility’ to any American female title-hunter who will pay sufficient cash down!Oh yes, my brethren, it is a great thing to be a lord! And when our Human brother is a lord, he will be so proud and glad that he won’t know himself! He is a good man now, but when he becomes a peer, he will be a better one! Oh yes, my friends!—the world and Human Nature generally will find him better, wiser, more generous, more charitable, more everything that is pleasant, beautiful, and truthful! Will it not be so? Yes, indeed it will be so! We know it will be so, for we were all ‘good’ men! I myself was a ‘good’ man—once!”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha! Ha-HA! Ha-ha-ha-ha!”
And like twisting boughs of trees in a storm, the goblins swayed and rocked themselves to and fro, convulsed with laughter.
“I say I was a ‘good’ man!” repeated the demon preacher, leaning down over the edge of the green pulpit, and rolling itsgoggle eyes at its audience, particularly at the shuddering McNason—“Good in the sense that you and I and our Human brother understand goodness! I wore a top-hat——”
“Ha-ha!”
“Anda frock-coat——”
“Ha-ha!”
“And I went to Church every Sunday——”
“Ha-ha-Ha!”
“I took round the collection-plate——”
“Ha-ha!”
“And I always put a sixpence into it myself—never less—never more!”
“Ha-ha-ha! Ha-Ha!”
“When any poor man asked me to help him, and said he had a large family to keep, I told him he shouldn’t have a large family——”
“Ha-ha-ha!”
“I never sacrificed my own comfort or convenience at any time on any account,and I never parted with a penny I thought it better to keep! I was a most respectable man!”
“Hoo-roo-oo! Hoo-roo!”
“Now, my friends, I will ask you in the spirit of One Timothy Two to consider the interesting subject of my discourse,—our dear Human brother! He, too, is most respectable! He is even more than respectable, for he is a millionaire! And not only a millionaire, but a multi-millionaire! He is all Money! Oh, my friends, how good it is to be all Money! All Money and no Heart! Heart is never respectable—it is always a scoundrel! Always trusting the wrong people, loving the worst sinners, and making a fool of itself in business! Oh yes, my friends, Heart is desperately wicked! But our dear Human brother has none of it. Let us congratulate him! Especially at this time of year,—this dreary, melancholy, grumbling-time—when all the world’stiresome little children want holiday treats, and all the tradesmen send in their bills,—this wretched, stupid, depressing season when evenWEare made uncomfortable——”
“Hoo-oo-oo! Hoo-roo!”
And now the Goblins beat their paunches desperately and instead of laughing, began to weep. One cadaverous-looking creature took off its woman’s hat, large as an extra large lamp-shade, and shed tears into it as though it were a bucket.
“Ah—ee!—ah—ee!” it sobbed—“How I do hate the compliments of the season! I always did! When I was a Human, I always had to tip my butler and my coachman on what they called Boxing Day! They expected it,—the Brutes! Ah—ee!—ah—ee! Such bitter, bitter memories!”
Other wailings and groanings of a similar nature arose in chorus, and even Josiah McNason’s own particular companion goblin moaned and blubbered.
“Itisa terrible time!” it whimpered—“Aterrible, terrible time! Everybody expects everybody else to give them something! Such a waste and such an expense! Oh, hoo-roo!”
Again Josiah essayed to speak,—but his tongue still refused to utter.
“At this depressing period,” went on the ranting “Firebrand”—“When stupid Humans wished each other to be ‘Merry’ without any cause for merriment, it is a great joy to find so sensible and practical a person as our dear, rich, wise friend Mr. Millionaire McNason among us! Yes, my brethren, it is a great joy! Forhenever wished anyone a ‘merry’ or even a happy time in his life, and quite right too! He never wanted to be ‘merry’ himself—never felt like it—never looked like it! He is the master of a great Business and has no time for Sentiment. Sentiment is an imbecile quality pertaining to girls, women and fools. And our Human brother is not a fool! Oh dear no! He is living preciselyas he wishes to die;—he is making himself into one ofUSwith all possible speed! And how clever that is of him! His only regret is that he will have no use for Money when he becomes a member of our United Empire Club:—and that to be a lord will give him no extra privileges! Otherwise, he is perfectly satisfied with Himself—just as we all used to be perfectly satisfied with Ourselves! And are we not satisfied with ourselves still? Oh yes, my brethren!—oh yes, we are satisfied, because we are compelled to be satisfied! There is no getting out of Our condition! We chose it, We made it, and here We are! And in the spirit of One Timothy Two, we exhort our Human brother to continue in the self righteous way he is going! We beseech him never to be ‘merry,’ never to be kind! We implore him never to either lend or give money to those in need, not even to an old and faithful servant! For old and faithful servants are just as great humbugs as anyother class of persons! Moreover gifts are always resented, and kindnesses considered as merely personal advertisements of generosity! Let our Human brother always be as he is now, and so shall he reap the just reward of his labours! The just reward!—the just reward——”
Here the bells suddenly began again, pealing their chimes with a delicious softness as though far, far away.
“Soon, very soon,” continued the “Firebrand,” lifting both its skeleton arms aloft from the enshrouding folds of its black draperies—“for our Human brother the joys of money-making will be no more! Soon, very soon, the demands upon his Purse will cease, and his weary eyes will close for the last time upon the pleasant sun! Soon, very soon, he will hear no more ‘compliments of the season’—nor will he be troubled by the hand-shake of a friend, or the suffering appeal of the sick and needy. Soon, very soon, his ears will be deaf to allentreaties or messages—he will not even hear the message of the Bells! The Bells!”
Here the Goblins all began to jump and dance up and down, up and down,—and turning their hideous faces towards Josiah McNason they bowed and bobbed before him, shouting and shrieking:
“The Bells! The Bells!”
“The message of the Bells!” reiterated the demon orator, waving its bony hands excitedly—“Grace, mercy, peace! One Timothy Two! Soon, very soon, our dear Human brother will be offended by that message no more! Soon—very soon—he will be one ofUS!”
With a tremendous effort, Josiah suddenly regained his speech.
“Never!” he cried, with extraordinary passion—“Never will I be one of You! Never, so help me God!”
As he spoke, a sudden terrific roar of mingled flame and wind sounded in his ears,—the peacock’s tail of light playing uplike foam against the Green Pulpit leaped to an abnormal height, and swallowed up the “Reverend Mr. Firebrand” in a twinkling,—then, spreading itself into a rolling stream of fire it swept over the crowd of Goblins and drove them all helter-skelter before it like dead leaves drifting in a hurricane, engulfing them all out of sight save one,—the self-styled “Professor” that still, with its bone of an arm thrust familiarly through McNason’s, remained beside him as it were “on guard.” The Green Pulpit vanished, and nothing remained of the whole shadowy building that had seemed to be a Church, save the great organ, where now instead of a Goblin, sat a boy acolyte dressed in a little white surplice. Under his tender young fingers the notes breathed tremulously but sweetly, and presently he opened his cherub mouth and sang:
“O be joyful in the Lord, all ye lands,—serve the Lord with gladness and come before his presence with a song!”
Here the anthem was taken up by some mighty invisible choir:
“Be ye sure that the Lord He is God; it is He that hath made us and not We Ourselves——”
And all at once a white cloud filled the near and distant spaces like the rushing-in of a wave, and on this opaque pearly vapour came floating a great number of dazzling Angelic Shapes, wonderfully fair, gloriously beautiful, carrying palms in their uplifted hands and singing:
“Glory! Glory to God in the highest! And on earth, peace and goodwill! Glory to God!”
Stricken with a great awe, Josiah McNason looked and listened. He trembled violently. Should he kneel? He wondered! He had oftenpretendedto kneel in Church—though he had really only bent his back slightly for convention’s sake, but now——?
Before he could make up his mind one way or the other the Goblin’s clutchdescended once more upon his coat-collar.
“Come along, McNason!” it whispered, “We must go now! We’re not wanted here! Come!”
“Oh! Leave me alone, for Heaven’s sake!” muttered Josiah pleadingly—“Let me stay here! Why take me away?”
“Why? Because they’re beginning to keep Christmas! We don’t believe in Christmas, do we? We say ‘Curse Christmas’ don’t we? Of course we do! Come along!You’renot wanted andI’mnot wanted! One Timothy Two! Off we go!”
Another terrible rush and hurry-scurry through unknown heights and depths of the stormy air, and then with a sudden swoop and pounce, the Goblin dumped Josiah McNason down outside the garden gate of a pretty cottage in a quiet country lane.Here, as if by magic, the sky cleared to a bright blue, and the sun shone out brilliantly. Birds began to sing, and the scent of a thousand flowers perfumed every light breath of wind.
“A little bit of sunshine, McNason!” whispered the Goblin—“It’s winter time for a good many Humans in many places, but it’s always summer here. It’s whatWEcall a ‘spiritual’ climate,—not affected by outside conditions!”
The suffering millionaire, breathless, exhausted and conscious of a great aching pain at his heart, gazed at the peaceful scene before him in silence. It was a very little garden upon which he looked,—a mere tea-cup of a garden,—but full to the brim of the sweetest blossom. The cottage to which the garden belonged was likewise very small, but it had a deep and cosy porch, up which the loveliest jessamine clambered and threw out tufts of odorous white spray. Red roses thrust their warmglowing faces through the masses of snowy bloom, and, twining in friendly garlands, showered their velvety petals at the feet of a fair woman who sat just within the porch, with her arms thrown round a sturdy boy of some nine or ten years old. She was well worth the homage of the roses—for she was very sweet to look upon,—fresh-complexioned as the bloom on a peach,—soft-eyed,—full-bosomed, and of an aspect expressing the serenest peace, love and tenderness.
“Once upon a time!” she said.
“Oh, mother!” cried the boy she clasped, “That’s the old way of telling a story! Try some other way!”
She laughed.
“Darling, there’s no other way! Everything was ‘once upon a time’ wasn’t it?” The little fellow looked up at her seriously.
“No, I don’t think so! You could never say you were my mother ‘once upon atime,’ could you? You are my mother always!”
“Always!” she murmured—“That’s very true, little man! Your mother always!”—and her lips moved silently—“On earth, and, please God, in Heaven!”
Josiah McNason, peering over the garden gate, now tried to open it, but found it inflexibly closed against him. He heaved an involuntary sigh. The Goblin echoed the sigh derisively.
“Heigh-ho, Beelzebub!” it said—“Good-looking woman, eh, McNason? And a pretty boy! That’s her youngest. She’s got three sons and a lovely daughter. Feel a bit envious, McNason? Don’t you wish you hadn’t jilted her?”
Josiah started. A sense of fear and shame began to tingle through his long-chilled blood.
“She is—she——?” he faltered.
“Exactly! That’s it!” said the Goblin.“She—sheIS! The girl whose first affections you won and threw over! That was a nasty trick of yours, McNason! You did it for Money—yes!—you’ve always done everything for Money! But the girl deserved a better fate than eitherYOUor yourMONEY!—and she’s got it! There she is—a beloved woman, wife, and mother. Just as pretty as you’re plain! She’s poor and you’re rich. But she’s contented and you’re wretched! She has three sons—all clever bright boys,—and you haven’t an heir to your name! You treated her like aCAD,—and she has married aMAN! He hasn’t millions, but he has Heart. Heart is a curious thing, McNason! You don’t know what it is, but it’s really a curious thing! It makes Happiness,—and you don’t know whatthatis either!”
McNason listened dreamily. All desire to resent or deny the Goblin’s accusations had died out of him. He looked yearningly over that barred garden gate as an unforgivensinner might look at the closed doors of Paradise. So that beautiful woman with the golden-haired boy was Lilias? Lilias was her name, he remembered;—he had called her familiarly by it in the old days,—days which he recalled now with a sense of imminent desolation. Lilias had married and was happy. Did her happiness please him? No, he could not say it did. A bitter jealousy burnt in his soul,—a wrathful impatience with Deity. Why was the future veiled? Why were men left so much in the dark concerning their destinies? How could he ever have guessed that Lilias would have ripened from the timid, pretty, trusting girl he had known, into this gracious, lovely, and loving woman with all the sacred sweetness of home enfolding her as securely as a rose is enfolded by the cherishing summer air! And still he looked at her,—and still the bitterness in him grew yet more bitter, and in a kind of impotent anger he shook the garden gatewith both his hands, determined to force it open.
“Steady, McNason!” said the Goblin at this juncture—“You’re not master here, you know! Every man’s house is his castle! You want to be a burglar, do you? So like you! I know a lot of fellows who feel that way! When they see a man happier than themselves, with a nice wife belonging to him, they try to steal the wife away and make him wretched! It’s a fashionable pastime with them, and they call it ‘Souls!’ Oh, Beelzebub! When they find out what Souls reallyare, won’t they be sorry for themselves! Come along, McNason!”
But Josiah clung to the garden gate.
“Lilias! Lilias!” he called.
But Lilias, laughing, was playing with her boy’s curls, and neither turned her head nor raised her eyes. The Goblin chuckled.
“Think she can hear you, do you?” itinquired mockingly—“Oh—hoo-roo!—what a fool you are, McNason! She is as far away from you as you are from her—and that’s a pretty long distance, I can tell you! You’re out in the storm and wind—she’s in the full sunshine! As I told you, she enjoys a ‘spiritual’ climate—supernatural weather! But you don’t believe in the supernatural, do you, McNason? Of course not! Why should you! You don’t believe in anybody but yourself! Not even in Me! Oh Beelzebub! Come along, come along!”
“Where to?” cried the miserable man, “Where in the name of Heaven do you want to take me next?”
“You shouldn’t talk about Heaven,”—said the Goblin, severely—“That’s a ‘supernatural’ place. I don’t want to take youthere, you may be sure! It wouldn’t suit you at all! Nor me! Come along, come along! Don’t hanker any more after what you have lost and can never find again!Sentiment is Stupidity—Money is Wisdom! Think of that! It makes you one of the wisest men on earth! Come! I’ve got another old friend waiting to see you—urgent appointment! Come along, I tell you!” And the Goblin made a vicious grab at McNason’s coat-collar. “Don’tyearnlike that! You’re too old to play Romeo, and ever so much too ugly! Hoo-roo-oo-oo! One Timothy Two!—and away we go!”
Out into the storm again on the wings of the bitter winter wind! All the sunshine of the “spiritual” climate vanished, and a great panorama of dark clouds moved rapidly through the freezing air. Clouds everywhere!—clouds of fantastic form and giant shape,—clouds like rocky fortresses set on the summits of high mountains,—clouds resembling huge ruminative animals wallowing in ether,—clouds heavy andthreatening, suggesting pent-up thunder and jagged flame! Like a couple of midges the Goblin and its human victim were tossed from edge to edge of the thick rolling vapours, and when they descended to earth once more, Josiah McNason found himself in the small “best parlour” of an unpretentious residence,—one in a row of similar dwellings in an unpretentious street.
“Keep your eyes open, McNason!” said the Goblin—“And your ears! Nobody seesYOU, you know, orME! We’re invisible. And if you want to curse and swear, do so by all means! Nobody hears, and nobody cares!”
Josiah looked, and saw before him a man reclining in an invalid chair near a small bright fire, his eyes fixed on the sparkling flames with a patient and wistful sadness. A pale, sweet-faced woman with soft brown hair somewhat silvered, knelt by him, clasping one of his hands tenderly in her own. There were traces of tears on her worn thincheeks, and her lips quivered. And standing close by, with one arm resting on the mantelpiece, and eyes bent compassionately down upon the pair, was another man whom McNason had no difficulty in recognising as his overseer, Mr. Pitt. Yet his surprise at this was so great that he could not forbear an exclamation.
“Pitt here! How the devil——!”
“Exactly!” said the Goblin—“How the devil and why the devil! Only the devil knows!”
Josiah groaned, and then the overpowering dumbness that had seized him before caught him again in its paralysing power. Stricken mute himself, he was nevertheless forced to listen with the closest attention to all that passed around him. And when Pitt spoke, the sound of that equable familiar voice sent a new and violent shock through his already racked nervous system.
“Mr. McNason is a man of iron,”—said Pitt—“There’s no doubt about it! Infact he’s harder than any metal, for metal can be made to melt, and he can’t!”
The man in the invalid chair moved restlessly.
“Did he remember me at all?—did you remind him?—” he murmured.
“Yes, Willie, I did! I even recalled the days when you used to carry his little son on your shoulder round to see the works—and I said, ‘Dove was one of the smartest men in your employ, and brought valuable custom to the firm.’ But it was all no use—no use!” He paused and then addressed himself gently to the woman who knelt by her husband’s side. “I am sure, Mrs. Dove, you believe that I have done my best?”
“Indeed, indeed, I know you have!” she answered earnestly—“And,—after all—I never had much hope. Mr. McNason must have endless claims upon his purse—and memory! It is so seldom one finds a very very rich man who cares to help little outside troubles like ours—” Here hervoice trembled dangerously, and she ceased.
Willie Dove sighed a little wearily.
“Ah well!” he said—“I did my best for him in my day! And I thought he might possibly be disposed to do me a good turn now. It’s true I haven’t so many years before me, but I’ve got some working power left if I could only get well——”
“I’m afraid it’s my fault, Will!” said his wife piteously. “You could, of course, go to the Hospital and doctors would attend to you there—but oh! I couldn’t bear it!—I couldn’t bear it!” And here her self-control gave way, and she began to sob—“I couldn’t bear to see you taken away from me after all the years we have spent so happily together! I couldn’t bear to think of you ill, and in a place where I could only get at you at stated times, with strangers always about you! It is very foolish of me and perhaps very wrong—but I—I cannot help it!”
Her husband stroked her bent head with his thin delicate hand.
“Don’t cry, Jennie!” he said softly—“I won’t go away from you! I’d rather die!”
Mr. Pitt coughed obstreperously.
“Look here, Dove,” he said—“Don’t let us be miserable on Christmas Eve! I left McNason himself looking as wretched as a plucked crow. Poor old chap! With all his money, I wouldn’t be in his shoes for the world! Tell me, what did the doctor say when he saw you to-day?”
“About the same as he has always said,” replied Dove, resignedly—“That an operation would not only relieve, but cure me, and that he should like to perform it here in my own house, and get a good surgical nurse to attend upon me, with my wife’s assistance. For my wife is a capital nurse, aren’t you, Jennie?” He caressed the bent head again and went on—“He thinks me of too nervous a temperament to do well away from home.”
There followed a silence. Presently Pitt spoke again in determined accents.
“I tell you what it is, Dove,” he said, “I’lllend you the money!”
Dove started.
“You, Mr. Pitt?”
“Yes, I!” and Pitt, smiling, drew himself up with an air of resolution—“I can’t afford it a bit—but I’ll risk it! I’ll risk it because—well!—because it’s Christmas-time!—Now don’t try to get up!” for Dove raising himself in his chair with some difficulty, caught at Pitt’s hand and grasped it hard, while tears stood in his eyes. “And don’t thank me, because I can’t bear to be thanked! It’s Christmas-time, as I’ve said—and I’ve always had ‘old-fashioned’ ideas of Christmas. My mother taught them to me—God bless her!—I think”—and his voice sank a little—“that perhaps we ought to spare a little ‘gold, frankincense and myrrh’ just at this season—and this loan to you will be my thank-offering—though it’sa poor thing at best, for you see I can’tgiveyou the money, Willie! McNason could have given it and never have missed it, but I can’t. I wish I could! However, if you’ll take the will for the deed——”
And now Mrs. Dove, rising gently from her knees, came up to him and laid her hand on his arm.
“God bless you, Mr. Pitt!” she said, in clear sweet tones—“Hewillbless you!—be sure of that! What you lend to us is more than given, because you have such a friendly sympathy with us, and sympathy is greater than gold! I will not even try to thank you——”
“No, don’t!” interrupted Pitt, hastily, pressing her hand hard—“It’s—it’s all right! Dove and I will arrange our business matters, and I’ll see the doctor to-morrow, even though itisChristmas Day!”
“I’ll pay it all back!” said Dove, excitedly—“I can work well still—I’ve got all my wits about me—and I have a fine offerfrom a firm to undertake some affairs for them immediately if I can only pull up my strength. And I think I shall manage—now!”
Pitt here drew a chair to the fire opposite the sick man and sat down.
“It’s a curious thing,”—he said—“how the possession of enormous wealth hardens some people, and makes them not only difficult to deal with, but often positively cruel to themselves and to others! Now if one is to judge by outward looks, Mr. McNason, though a multi-millionaire, is just about one of the most miserable men alive!”
The Goblin chuckled, and gave Josiah a nudge with its sharp elbow.
“Hear that, McNason!” it said—“It’ll do you good to learn what other folks think of you!”
“So old, so feeble and so lonely!” went on Mr. Pitt, almost pathetically—“When he refused to do anything for your assistance, Dove, I was inclined to be very plain-spokenand give him a bit of my mind, even at the risk of offending him,—but seeing what a forlorn old wreck he seemed, with his shrivelled body and wrinkled face, I thought it was no use being angry with him,—especially at Christmas-time! He’s not long for this world!”
Again the Goblin nudged Josiah’s arm and its fiery eyes glowed with railway-signal brilliancy.
“It’s not exactly age that will kill him,”—went on Pitt, meditatively—“He’s not seventy yet, and ought to look much healthier and stronger than he does. My father is eighty-two, and is as well set-up a veteran as anyone could wish to see—walks his six miles a day, and is as young in heart as a boy—but of course he has always lived a very simple life and never hankered after more money than just as much as would keep him going and save him from debt. Mr. McNason has all the cares of an immense business on his brain—andnaturally a break-down must come sooner or later——”
He ceased. A gust of wind roared down the chimney, throwing the flames of the little fire crookedly to and fro. Mrs. Dove shivered, and looked about her uneasily.
“What a stormy night!” she said—“Not at all a peaceful Christmas!”
Her husband, lying restfully back in his chair, smiled at her.
“The peace must be in our hearts, Jennie!” he said—“If we don’t keep Christmasthere, it’s no Christmas at all! Storm or calm, it’s a blessed time!—a time of thanksgiving—a time of hope!”
“So it is,”—agreed Pitt—“and so may it always be! Now, Mrs. Dove, bring out a bottle of that old port your good doctor sent you the other day, and we’ll drink to Willie’s recovery and health and general usefulness! And we’ll wish old McNason a Merry Christmas, too!”
They all laughed, and Mrs. Dove set thewine and glasses on the table. Mr. Pitt poured out the ruby-red cordial, and raising his own glass to his lips said:
“A Merry Christmas to you, Mrs. Dove! A Merry Christmas to you, Willie! And to our grim and gaunt old governor, Mr. McNason, a Merry Christmas also! And may he find something better than riches in the next world and be all the happier for the finding!”
They all three drank this toast, and while they drank, Josiah McNason trembled in every limb with an ague of exceeding cold. Was he so near death, he wondered, that even Pitt could see the near approach of his end? He turned his miserable eyes upon the Goblin, who grinned.
“Brother ‘Firebrand’ was quite right, you see!” it remarked—“Soon, very soon, you will be one ofUS!Weare your ‘next world,’ you know! And riches don’t count in our United Empire Club—but you’ll be happy, McNason! Oh yes—you’ll be sohappy! Because you will have reaped the just reward of your labours, and you will be exactly what you have made ofYOURSELF! Nothing could be more satisfactory! Listen! Willie Dove is talking about you now!”
And so he was. Willie Dove was speaking in the kindest and gentlest way possible of the man who had refused to help him in his need.
“Well, I hope Mr. McNason will live many years yet,” he said—“and that he will learn how to enjoy and get the best out of the large fortune he has made. The amount of good he could do if he liked is simply incalculable—and if he would only use some of his money just for the sole purpose of benefiting others, and would not merely put it out like a magnet to draw more money in again, he would be the happiest man alive. For instance, if instead of subscribing large sums to charities which are presided over by ‘committees’ who useup half the money for their own expenses, he would go himself among the poor and personally relieve them at first hand,—if he would try to help those who are, with great difficulty, trying to help themselves,—those who cannot borrow and will not beg,—if he would just put himself out a bit——”
“Ah, that’s just what he won’t do!” interposed Pitt—“He can’t see anything or anybody but Himself—that’s the pity of it!”
“Poor soul!” said Mrs. Dove, gently—“We mustn’t forget that he lost his only son,—a dear little boy!—and that may have embittered him. Allourchildren have been mercifully spared to us, thank God!—but even if one had been taken, I’m sure we should always have been thinking of that one! And his ‘one’ was his all! We must remember that! And however hard he is uponus, we mustn’t be hard uponhim! That wouldn’t be keeping Christmas rightly!”
At this Josiah turned and flung himself desperately against the Goblin’s paunch.
“Take me away!” he muttered, finding his speech with an effort—“Take me out of this! I—I don’t want to stop here! I want to get away—QUICK!”
“‘Coals of fire,’ eh?” said the Goblin—“A trifle scorching, even on a thick skull like yours, McNason! So you’d forgotten Willie Dove, had you? Curious! He was always a very excellent fellow, though, and one of the best men in your employ. The honour of the firm was the first thing with him at all times, and you owe to his hard work and straight principles more than you have the honesty to acknowledge! But it’s no use trying to tip the balance of things, McNason! That balance always rights itself! Good is good, and evil is evil,—you can’t make one out to be the other, however much you try! If you’re spiteful, if you’re mean, if you’re unthankful for the blessings bestowed on you—and more than all, if yourefuse to help those who have helpedyou, you are punished! You are, really! And a good sound flogging you get, I can tell you! Oh Beelzebub!—don’tIknow this! When I was a Churchwarden——”
“Willyou do as I ask you?” implored Josiah, desperately, “Get me out of this! I want to go home!”
“Poor old baby! Wants to go home, does it!” jeered the Goblin—“Oh, but it mustn’t be naughty! It must go where its nursey takes it! Just another little ridey-pidey in its coachy-poachy!” And rising aloft on its skeleton toes, the Goblin grew larger and more threatening of aspect, while its bat-wings, slowly unfurling, seemed spreading out so darkly and interminably that Josiah fell on his knees in terror—“Just another taste of the ‘supernatural,’ McNason! Just another little experience of Hell’s United Empire Club!”
“No, no!” gasped the tremblingmillionaire—“Let me get home! Give me a chance to—to——”
His voice gurgled away into a faint tremolo.
“Chance! You’ve had a thousand chances!” retorted the Goblin, scornfully, “And you’ve thrown them all away! Now you’re asking foronechance! Oh, hoo-roo! Come and see how Christians love one another! With a love that perhaps you may appreciate, because it is so like hate! Come and hear an ‘ordained’ clerical Judas deny his Master!Youand such men asYOU—gorged with gold, and diseased with Self,—are chiefly to blame for the wicked blasphemies which to-day brand the Christian world with infamy! Come—come! Blasphemy will suit you! You have aided it and abetted it many a time, even though youarea ‘churchwarden.’ Oh, hoo-roo, hoo-roo! Come in the spirit of One Timothy Two! Come!—come!Come!”
And like a great phantom of black Night descending, the Goblin swooped upon Josiah once more;—the little quiet room,—where Willie Dove, his wife and friend were all cheerily drinking “A Merry Christmas,”—was blotted from his sight, and again limitless space enshrouded and enveloped him in darkness.
A muffled and monotonous sound of chanting—the twinkling of many bright lights,—and the subdued rustling movement of many people gathered together,—these were the next impressions that awakened McNason to renewed consciousness. He stood in what seemed a shadowy forest of architecture;—there were great marble monuments all round him inscribed with the names of famous poets, warriors and historians, and on one of these the Goblin squatted cross-legged beside him, blinking with its owl-like eyes.
“There’s not a seat to be had, McNason!” it remarked, with a leer—“You must stand! Oh, Beelzebub! What a thing it is to be a ‘fashionable’ preacher! Nothing ‘draws!’ so well nowadays as an Atheist in Holy Orders! Not even our reverend brother ‘Firebrand’! Oh, hoo-roo!”
McNason looked bewilderedly about him. Surely he knew the place he was in?—its blackened arches, its shadowy aisles were not wholly unfamiliar? Gradually he recognised it as that melancholy Valhalla of English departed greatness, Westminster Abbey. But why had his uncanny incubus, “Professor” Goblin, brought him hither? What had he to do with the dense crowd of people massed round him—all looking—all listening——!
Hush! The monotonous chanting ceased—there was a brief pause of pretence at prayer—and then a man’s voice, clear and incisive, but with a falsetto ring of cold superciliousness and irony in its tone,sounded vibratingly on the silence. The Church’s ordained Preacher of the Gospel began to preach, and Josiah McNason, more than any other human unit in the congregation, was compelled to listen. And as he listened, he became aware that this same ordained preacher was calmly, but none the less surely, doing his best to undermine the very faith of which he was a professed disciple. Craftily, and with cunningly devised arguments, which held their meaning deftly secreted under a veil of choice expressions and well-turned phrases, he spoke of “old” beliefs with delicate tolerance and compassion—throwing in occasional questionings as to the meaning of “miracles,” and setting down “Divine” interposition as a fable, or rather as a beautiful myth which in the “darker” ages of the world was eminently useful as a means of intimidating and chastening the spirits of the ignorant. He spoke much of a “New Feeling” which was awakening among more advancedand civilised human kind,—that special “New Feeling” which looks upon Man as in himself supreme, and answerable to no Higher Tribunal than His Own for his actions. He deprecated the unfortunately chaotic state of things in the Churches which prevented a full inquiry into the foundations of belief, and hoped that the time was fast approaching when a larger and broader view might be obtained, and humanity be absolved from special duties to a Supernatural Conception which might possibly be a mistaken conception after all. In fine, the drift of his involved and euphuistic eloquence was to imply that pigmy Man would in due course be permitted to fathom the Mind of God,—and not only be permitted to fathom it, but to criticize it, question it and possibly condemn it after the same easy style, and in the same casual fashion, in which all human criticism condemns what it is too limited to comprehend. And gradually it was forced in upon JosiahMcNason’s not always receptive intelligence that the rankest heresy, the vilest blasphemy was being preached from a Christian pulpit, by one who, passing for a “Christian” minister, was nothing more nor less than a foul hypocrite, and a disgrace to his sacred calling. Yet the congregation listened. They did not rise at once and make a quiet exit as they should have done, had they been honest and brave,—had they truly loved the Faith which leads to Heaven! Yet their faces expressed a certain dull bewilderment,—some looked worried and sad—others perplexed,—though many of them appeared indifferent. And certain words which he had heard often, yet which he had scarcely heeded while hearing them, came ringing across McNason’s mind as clearly as though they had just been spoken into his ears:
“And because iniquity shall abound, the love of many shall wax cold!”
He trembled. His eyes were dim,—buthe could still see the Atheist-Preacher’s cold, intellectual face,—he was still in a vague way conscious that the sermon was going on, and that a human creature, full to the very brows of self-sufficiency and conceit, was presuming to lay down the law concerning the possible limitations of the Divine—a human creature moreover who occupied his very position in the Church through having solemnly sworn fidelity to the Master whom now, by the most covert subterfuges and sophistries, he was denying,—and he was aware that a sense of uneasiness and discomfort affected nearly all present, including even himself. He turned to look at the Goblin,—but to his amazement it had disappeared! Was he free then?—free once more to go where he liked and do as he liked?
He tried to move—but his feet seemed fastened to the earth with iron weights; he essayed to speak,—but his tongue refused to obey the impulse of his brain. On, stillon, the voice of the Atheist-Preacher in England’s ancient Abbey flowed, with that equable fluency which comes of long and careful elocutionary practice, and Josiah McNason, wedged as he was into the close-pressing crowd, wondered how long he would have to stand there, listening to what at another more convenient time he might very likely have considered a clever and “up-to-date” exposition of the “New Feeling.” All at once he saw a great Light, like that of the sun at noonday, suddenly begin to shine. With glorious effulgence it formed into a halo of exceeding brilliancy, spreading from north to south, from east to west of the old Church, between the Choir and the Nave, and with a palpitating dread shaking his very soul, Josiah watched it widening and ever widening, till taking upon itself the shape of a Cross, it fired the whole scene with the radiance of a golden morning! Yet no one saw it apparently,—no one save he, the world’s great millionaire, who,denying the “supernatural,” was for the time under “supernatural” sway. And trembling, he beheld that wondrous Cross move mysteriously forward, till its light poured with a gracious beauty and beneficence over all the dull worn faces of the people—on men and women and children alike,—though, as it moved, it left the face of the Atheist-Preacher covered with darkness. And in the very heart and centre of its environment lustre, a majestic Figure paced slowly—a god-like Man, whose Features were sorrowful, and whose Brow was crowned with Thorns. A faint whisper floated on the air like the sigh of small spirit voices in plaintive unison:
“Despised and Rejected! Love, Divine and Human, Love, Perfect and Eternal! Despised and Rejected! EvenNOW!”
Down, down on his knees fell the man of many millions, overcome by the most poignant fear and shame he had ever known. He had disbelieved! He knew it at last,—heknew that he had, for the sake of public conventionality, made mere hypocritical pretence to worship One Whose sublime teaching he outraged every day of his life, Whose commands he ignored, and Whose example he had never at any time tried to follow. And now—now! With pulses beating as though they would burst, and eyes dim with painful tears wrung from the centre of the rocky region of his heart, he sought to cover his face,—but was forced against his will to gaze, half blind and giddy as he was, on that majestic advancing Shape, which appeared to draw away all the shadows of the great cathedral and transfuse them into light. He noticed, with an extraordinary anguish, which to him was as new as it was keen, that the crowded congregation of people among whom he knelt seemed totally unaware of the shining Presence that passed them by,—and as that Presence moved slowly and silently towards the closed doors of theAbbey, he felt that he must cry out wildly:—
“Look—look! Kneel down and pray! Entreat Him not to leave us, for if He goes, why should we remain!”
But all utterance was denied him. He could only watch and tremble. Slowly, very slowly, with a grand reproach expressed in every feature of its glorious Countenance, the heavenly Vision of the Crucified moved on,—the doors of the Abbey opened noiselessly, as though flung aside by invisible hands, admitting a broad shaft of winter moonlight from the outer air,—and so, never once looking back, it passed out and away from the crowded church of “Christian” worshippers, and, melting into the silvery radiance of the moon, disappeared. The doors closed darkly behind it—and black shadows drooped from the dim cathedral arches, hanging drearily over the people, and filling the aisles and chapels with a dull noxious vapour—and then with asudden startling clangour, out rang the Bells again! The Bells! Hoarse and reproachful!—full of menace and foreboding, loneliness and despair! Such a tolling chime they gave as might fit the burial of all the faiths and aspirations of the world! They spoke of Death, not Life!—of the black grave from which all hope of resurrection had been taken,—with a sob in their savage metal throats they proclaimed the closing of the gates of Heaven!—with harsh resistance they bewailed the loss of confidence in God, of trust in the future, of comfort in sorrow—and with dismal and heavy reverberation they thundered forth “Death! Death! Death is the end of all! There shall be no Hereafter!”
Within the Abbey the people looked doubtfully at one another. Some smiled—some sighed,—one or two had tears in their eyes. A faint whisper ran from lip to lip. “Christmas Day!” they murmured—“It is Christmas Day!” And again they sighedand smiled. But it was evident that the old Festival for them held no meaning—no tender or pious memory. Once perhaps it might have had—but now—! Why now the very Spirit and Soul of Christmas had departed!—the doors of the Christian Church itself were closed against it,—the Divine Friend of Mankind had passed by unheeded, and had gone away from those who were passively permitting His honour to be assailed,—what then was Christmas Day but the mere empty name of a discarded Blessing! The dark shadows steadily thickened,—and Josiah, still grovelling on the ground, with the awful clang of the moaning Bells in his ears, felt that he was being stifled and pressed down into a tomb of everlasting icy cold,—when he was suddenly plucked up from his knees by the grip of a too familiar claw, and lo!—the Goblin stood confronting him with a sad and sober grin.
“Dull place, Westminster Abbey!” itremarked—“Oh hoo-roo! All damp and dismals! I wouldn’t be an England’s great man for anything! It’s the last reward an England’s great man ever gets,—the ‘honour’—oh, hoo-roo!—of being allowed to moulder among the most mouldered remains that ever mouldered! Hoo-roo! I’m glad the body I used to wear when I was a Churchwarden is all turned into daisies in a country churchyard. Pretty things, daisies! Fancyyourold wrinkles turning into them!”
McNason was silent. He stood quietly resigned to the Goblin’s clutch, waiting for its next move. And while he waited, he saw the crowd in front of him sway, part asunder, and begin to disperse,—while the Atheist-Preacher, descending from the pulpit, held brief conversation with a man who took from his hand a roll of paper. McNason could hear him speaking, despite the space between them.
“Here’s my sermon in full,”—he said—“Ihope you will give it the widest publicity. The ‘copy’ contains a good many effective bits which I was obliged to leave out with a mixed congregation. You never know how people may take the upsetting of their cherished creeds! In such work the Press can do more than the Pulpit. Nothing like a good Press discussion for shaking the old foundations! And I think my remarks are likely to cause a fluttering in the dove-cotes!”
The reporter—for such he was—smiled.
“You are not afraid of your Archbishop?” he said.
The Atheist-Preacher laughed.
“My Archbishop! He has no time to give his attention to any such matter as this. He’s too busy with the claims of the Poor Clergy!”
They both laughed then, shook hands and separated. McNason, in the Goblin’s grasp, watched them go their several ways, and then suddenly recovering his speech, said:—
“That man ought to be put out of the Church!”
“Quite right—so he ought!” agreed the Goblin—“You are getting quite discriminating, Josiah! He ought to be put out of the Church, but who’s going to do it? He isn’t drunk or disorderly! He’s a liar and a hypocrite, and he’s taking his ‘salary’ on false pretences—but there are hundreds—perhaps thousands—like him! Besides, those who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones! You’re as bad as he is in your way! You pretend——”
“Ihavepretended——!” said McNason, humbly.
The Goblin looked at him, and closed one round eye in a most horrible and portentous wink.
“I see!” it observed—“You’re preparing to make a good end! You’re like the Naughty Duchess! Oh, hoo-roo! What a charactershewas! She went the pace as hard as ever she could till she was quiteworn out and could count her crows-feet,—then she began to go to Church regularly, and became publicly charitable. She turned herself into a Bazaar Lady; opened several soup-kitchens, and used to cry over the newest sweet thing in curates. Naughty, naughty Duchess! When she died an eminent Dean preached a sermon about her. She left him five thousand pounds in her will. He said she was ‘one of the noblest women that ever lived.’ And she’s one of us now. Oh hoo-roo! Don’t you try to be like her, McNason!—it doesn’t pay! Come along!—Come and take a look at London!”
With a fantastic caper, the Goblin sidled and skipped out of the Abbey, its conical cap glowing like the flame of a will-o’-the-wisp in a dark morass,—while passively, and without any strength to resist its imperious lead, the millionaire followed. In the full radiance of a moon which made the streets as light as day, they presentlystood,—and as in a fevered dream, Josiah saw the familiar clock-tower of Westminster, the great square in front of the Houses of Parliament, and the twinkling lamps on the bridge that spans the steely gleam of the river Thames. The dull human roar of the great metropolis thundered in his ears like the rushing of many waters, and while he yet looked on the scene which he knew so well, the Goblin took off its cap and touched his eyes with its tasselled point.
“Tick-tock! Tick-tock! Only two thousand years by the Spirit’s clock!” it said.
And lo!—the stately tower, buildings and streets disappeared! Smooth green fields spread out on every side, full-flowering with meadow-sweet, buttercups and daisies,—there was no longer any bridge across the river, which, flowing calmly between low banks of mossy turf and fern, reflected the sunshine in a thousand sparkles and plashed against the double shores withmusical murmurs of peace. A flock of sheep grazed on the quiet pasture, and their shepherd sat at his ease by the side of the placid stream.
And now the Goblin waved its spidery arms.
“Ask him,” it said—“what has become of London!”
Obediently McNason put the question. The shepherd turned upon him a young wondering face.
“London!” he echoed. Then he smiled. “Oh yes, I think I know what you mean! Therewasa city of that name somewhere about here once, but I don’t know exactly where! There’s nothing of it left now!”
“Nothing!” exclaimed McNason, aghast.
“Nothing!”—And the Goblin, pronouncing this word, waved its arms again, whereupon the Vision vanished,—“Nothing! Not a shred!—not a brick—not a bone! Not even a gold Coin! All the business—Gone!—all the pleasure—Gone!—all thescheming, plotting, lying, cheating, villainy, hatred and envy of one human creature contesting with the other—Gone! All the self-sufficiency, learning, little wisdom, and utter godlessness—Gone! Such will London be in two thousand years! And Nature will not miss it! Nature can do without it very well; Nature can do without you equally well, McNason! The sun will go on shining and the birds will go on singing none the less because You are wanting! Come along!—come along! In the spirit of One Timothy Two, time’s up! Off we go on our last journey!”
Once more Josiah fell on his knees.
“Spare me!” he cried—“Spare me! Surely I have suffered enough!”
“Suffered? You? Oh Beelzebub!” And the Goblin began to elongate itself in its own peculiar and terror-striking style, “You’ve only just begun to know what it is tofeel! You hard old scoundrel!Youtalk of suffering!—why, you havelived till over sixty years of age, caring nothing at all for the troubles of others unless you could turn such troubles to your own advantage! As a child you were selfish,—as a boy you were selfish,—as a young man you were selfish,—as an old man you are selfish! You have crushed out hundreds of human lives in your factories as if they were mere ants swarming under your iron heel! You have cut down the expenses of your business to the narrowest, meanest, most pitiful margin,—you ‘sweat’ your labourers to such an extent that you know you dare not walk through your own workshops without a revolver in your pocket and a man on either side of you for protection—you are a living curse to the majority of those you employ—and they look for your death in the hope that after you are gone they will have a kinder master! Andyouquote Shakespeare, do you? And the Bible! Oh hoo-roo! Come along! Time’s up, I tell you! And we’renot going far. Just a little see-saw ride to a Home Sweet Home! A last long Home! A Happy Home! Oh hoo-roo-oo-oo! One Timothy Two, and away we go!”
Again a brief spell of semi-consciousness—a kind of waking nightmare in which many confused sights and sounds were intermingled;—flying visions of pale worn faces full of sorrow and appeal; noises as of weeping, with stifled cries and sobs of pain;—and then Josiah McNason opened his eyes widely, to find himself lying flat on a narrow bed in the centre of a rather large room. His head rested on a small, very hard pillow,—and on this pillow squatted the Goblin with an air of being quite at ease.
“Here we are in a happy ‘Home,’ McNason!” it chuckled softly in his ear—“Don’t worry! Don’t agitate yourself!Keep quiet calm! You will have every possible attention!”
Josiah stared helplessly about him. He saw his clothes neatly folded and placed all together on the top of a chest of drawers,—his top-hat was also a particularly conspicuous object on a chair close by. He realised that he had been undressed and put to bed, but how this had happened he could not tell. He turned a miserable questioning gaze on the Goblin.
“What—what’s this?” he stammered—“What are you going to do to me?”
“I?” And the Goblin, with an injured air of perfect innocence, executed a diabolical French shrug of its shoulders—“I’m not going to do anything to you, my dear sir! I wouldn’t be so cruel! It isTHEY!—THEYare going to do something to you,—but all for your good!—oh, hoo-roo—all for your good!”
They!Who wereTHEY? With painful hesitation Josiah turned his eyes roundabout again, and presently saw, standing near him like dim figures in a blurred photograph, two men talking confidentially together—one fairly young, the other elderly,—while with them was a smart, well-set-up, rather perky looking woman attired in the conventional grey gown, spotless apron and cap of the “professional” nurse. The elderly man’s back was turned, but he seemed to be expounding some knotty point of argument to his companions with particular emphasis and gusto.
“Something’s gone wrong with the Works, McNason!” said the Goblin, confidentially, “That’s what’s the matter?”
“Works?” And McNason’s troubled mind immediately reverted to his huge factories—“What works?”
“Yourworks!” and the Goblin leered at him sideways with a frightful grin—“Your internal works! And these two learned gentlemen are going to find outwhat it is. You’re ill, you know!—you’re very ill! The learned gentlemen don’t quite understand how or why you’re ill, but they’re going to find out! They’re going to slice you up and see what you’re like inside! It will be most interesting and instructive—to the learned gentlemen! It won’t interestYOUat all, because you’re to be put under chloroform, and you won’t know anything about it except when you ‘come to.’ Then you will die! But that won’t particularly matter! The operation is sure to be ‘most successful.’ An operation is always ‘successful,’ even if the patient never recovers! The medical profession must be safeguarded, you know!”