McNason heard, and in an instant became a prey to the most violent access of nervous horror.
“I’m not ill!” he said fiercely. “There’s nothing whatever the matter with me! How dare you say there is! It’s all a mistake—an abominable mistake! I’ve neversuffered from any illness except gout and indigestion—never!—there’s no operation needed for such ailments!—what the devil do you mean by bringing me here?”
“Youwilltalk about the devil!” And the Goblin shook its tasselled cap at him reproachfully—“Don’t say I mentioned him first! You’re ill, I tell you!—you’re more seriously ill than your old friend Willie Dove, and you’re herebecauseyou’re ill! ‘To this complexion must we come at last’! Oh Beelzebub! They don’t know whether it’s cancer or appendicitis withYOU!”
“Look here!” almost shouted Josiah, addressing himself to the two men, who, with the nurse, still stood together talking, but who appeared not to hear him—“Take me out of this place directly! I’ve been brought here on false pretences! I’m not ill! I don’t want an operation! I won’t be operated upon! I’ll—I’ll——!”
Here exhausted, he sank back on his hardpillow impotently clenching his hands in a paroxysm of rage and fear.
The Goblin grinned.
“Now, McNason, keep cool!” it said—“Don’t show temper! Doctors don’t like that sort of thing. They call it ‘nerves’ and they give you a soothing draught. Besides, these two eminent personages who are just now discussing your ‘case’ can’t hear you, and if they could they wouldn’t listen. One’s a ‘Sir.’ He’s a clever man, of course, or he wouldn’t be a ‘Sir.’ It’s a little unpleasant that the title puts him on the same rank with any provincial Mayor who has presented an address to the Sovereign! But it can’t be helped. There’s no suitable honour in this country formerelyintellectual and scientific persons! Now about your case——”
“I’venocase!” groaned the wretched millionaire—“No case at all——”
“Youarea case!” declared the Goblin—“A whole case in yourself! A case of a mangone wrong! A case of a human creature who has a stone in the place where his heart ought to be!—a hard, heavy stone, without a pulse of love or kindness in it! A case? Oh Beelzebub! I should think youarea case! Sir Slasher Cut-Em-Up—that’s the broad-backed elderly gentleman over there,—thinks you’ve got something ‘malignant’ inside! Oh hoo-roo-oo-oo! I should think you had! Sir Slasher believes it’s cancer. But if it is, they’ll never find it, McNason! No!—yourcancer’s on the mind!—and they’ll never cutthatout! But they’re going to have a good try!”
Josiah moaned helplessly.
“Sir Slasher Cut-Em-Up is a great vivisector,”—proceeded the Goblin, cheerfully—“He knows where to find every little nerve and muscle in the body of a dog, for instance. I don’t say your body is at all like that of a dog!—I know your Soul isn’t half so honest or so faithful! Sir Slasher has had more than a hundred innocent animals under hisscalpel—all poor, trustful, good creatures whom he has pinned and stretched in every possible position on his rack of torture—whose nerves he has severed—whose muscles he has galvanized—and whom he has killed as slowly, as ruthlessly and as criminally as any Torquemada that ever roasted a heretic to the sound of sacred music! Hoo-roo! Sir Slasher knows a thing or two, I can tell you! He’s a licensed murderer of the harmless and helpless,—but even a dog’s soul has a place in the eternal countings, as Sir Slasher may find out to his cost when he becomes a member of our United Empire Club! He cut up a dog yesterday—now he’s going to cut upYOU! You’re a splendid subject for him, you know! You’ve got so muchMONEY!”
Again Josiah moaned in a stupor of fear.
“You’ve got so muchMONEY!” repeated the Goblin, smacking its wide lips as though it were tasting something savoury,—“AndMONEY’s a great thing!Moneyhas enabledyou to come to this ‘Home’—one of the most select ‘Homes’ in London! Oh, Home Sweet Home! Oh happy, happy Home! It’s the special pet ‘Nursing Home’ of Sir Slasher Cut-Em-Up, where he’s got the matron and all the nurses under his big Thumb! Oh, hoo-roo! Such a dear Home! You pay Five Guineas a week for your room to begin with,—and then when you’re very ill, you pay Ten. Afterwards, when you get worse and are likely to die, you pay Fifteen. The nurse is extra. If you have two nurses you have two extras. Everything apart from the room and the bed is ‘extra.’ If you want a bottle of soda water you pay sixpence for a ‘split,’ ninepence for a full. And so on! And so on! Oh, what a dear ‘comfy’ Home! There aren’t many like it in London, I can tell you! Only a few—a beautiful, blessed few!”
At this moment, the personage whom the Goblin designated as Sir Slasher-Cut-Em-Up finished his conversation with his youngercolleague, and both gentlemen smiled pleasantly, not to say flirtatiously, at the grey-gowned nurse.
“Twelve o’clock to-morrow will do very well,” said Sir Slasher—“We shall leave you to make all the preliminary arrangements, Nurse Drat-Em-All. He’s asleep just now, I see!”
“I’m not asleep!”—gurgled McNason, feebly.
But Sir Slasher apparently did not hear. He stood by the bedside, smiling blandly, his hands clasped behind him under his coat-tails.
“One of the richest men in the world!” he ejaculated, appreciatively—“Dear me, dear me! Ah well, well! Has he any family?”
“None,”—said Nurse Drat-Em-All—“He had one son, I believe, who died in childhood.”
She spoke primly, her lips opening and shutting on her words like a kind of mechanicalvalve. But while she spoke she flashed her eyes at the younger doctor with a feline cajolery in their hard brown depths.
“Then who,” murmured Sir Slasher, thoughtfully—“Who is to carry on his vast business concerns? Who is to inherit his enormous fortune?”
No answer was forthcoming to this profound proposition.
Sir Slasher thereupon removed his hands from under his coat-tails, and consulted his watch.
“I must be going,”—he said—“You will attend to all that is necessary, Nurse?”
“Certainly, Sir Slasher!”
“I shall bring Dr. Choke-Em-Off with me to-morrow—and I think—yes, I think”—here he looked benevolently considerate—“that taking into account Mr. McNason’s great wealth and important position, and—er—also—er—the very great difficulty and uncertainty of the operation, Dr. Choke-Em-Off’s fee should be doubled! He is one ofour best anæsthetists—what do you say, Nurse?”
Sir Slasher had a delightful smile, and he was smiling delightfully now. Nurse Drat-Em-All responded to the charm of it.
“There is no doubt that it is justifiably a case of double fees all round!” she said, her own smile breaking into a giggle.
“Exactly!” And Sir Slasher shed a fatherly glance upon her—“And our young friend here”—at this he laid a hand on his fellow-surgeon’s shoulder—“Our young and brilliant friend will also have an opportunity of displaying his skill and securing his reward! Of course,”—here he became portentously business-like—“it will be advisable to get the patient to sign the required cheques in advance,—there will be no difficulty about that I should imagine! Because you see,—afterwards!”
“Ah!—afterwards!” echoed the younger doctor, speaking for the first time.
Sir Slasher tried to look grave, but failed in the attempt.
“Afterwards,” he said pleasantly,—“the worthy millionaire may not be in a condition to sign anything! I think”—and he paused, stroking his smooth double chin—“I think, Nurse, he should be told that the operation is a grave, very grave one, in case—these things sometimes happen!—in case he has not made a will—or—let us say in case he might wish to make some last testamentary gift—to—er—to me?—or—or to you?—or to anyone else who may have rendered him a service?”
“I’ll see that he does all that he ought to do!” said Nurse Drat-Em-All, with some severity—“I like my patients to be prepared for the worst!”
“Quite right—quite right!” murmured Sir Slasher—“But prepare him gently—quite gently, Nurse! By degrees—and cautiously! Ihaveknown cases where patients, getting too much alarmed, havemade their escape from a home like this by jumping out of the window! And strange to say they have—some of them—escaped uninjured!—and stranger still, they have recovered and lived many years! Most curious and remarkable! But nerves are unaccountable things!” Here he paused and looked again at McNason. “He sleeps very soundly! I should say he was older than he admits! Ah well, well! We shall see! But I very much fear there’s no chance for his recovery!”
“Then why not spare the knife and let him live as long as Nature will allow him?” asked the younger doctor suddenly.
Sir Slasher looked amazed and reproachful.
“My dear sir! I was called in by Mr. McNason, and I must do my best for such a very wealthy man! Besides, I think his is a very complex case, and likely to prove most helpful and instructive. To-morrow at twelve o’clock, Nurse! Good-evening!”
And Sir Slasher Cut-Em-Up walked softly out of the room, followed by his colleague. Nurse Drat-Em-All, with a casual glance at the bed where Josiah McNason lay, settled her cap more coquettishly on her head and tripped after them.
“They’re gone!” said the Goblin then, sliding down from the pillow and sitting astride on Josiah’s recumbent body—“But Nurse Drat-Em-All will soon be back!”
“I don’t want her back!” groaned McNason, making an attempt to draw up the bed-quilt in order to cover his eyes, in which effort he did not succeed—“I don’t want anything! Leave me alone!”
“Sorry I can’t oblige you!” replied the Goblin—“I can’t leave you alone till you leaveYOURSELFalone! And Nurse Drat-Em-All must come back to attend to her duties! She’s got a lot of things to do to you!”
McNason peered over the extreme edge of the bed-quilt.
“A lot of things to do to me?” he echoed, whimperingly—“What—what will she do?”
“She will wash you first!” said the Goblin, briskly—“All over! Oh, such a nice wash! Made of carbolic disinfectant! And you will be so clean—outsideyou!”
Josiah closed his eyes shudderingly.
“And then you will be put into a new flannel night-shirt,”—went on the Goblin—“And you will perhaps be allowed a cup of hot milk or beef tea. And when you’re nice and warm and clean and cosy, Nurse Drat-Em-All will come and tell you to prepare for your end!”
“No—no!” cried McNason—“I’m not ill!—and I’m not ready—!”
“Youareill!” declared the Goblin, firmly—“And never mind about not being ready for your end. Nurse Drat-Em-All willmakeyou ready! She’ll tell you what a very serious and expensive matter it will be to slice you up scientifically to-morrow—and she will ask you where your cheque book is——”
“I won’t tell her—I won’t—” stuttered McNason.
“Oh yes, you will!She’llget it out of you! And then you’ll write a big cheque for Sir Slasher Cut-Em-Up, and another for the matron of this happy ‘Home’—and for Dr. Choke-Em-Off,—and for everybody else who wants a fee for sending you into the next world—and then—then you’ll be allowed to sleep if you can! And to-morrow—to-morrow——”
Here the Goblin paused. Josiah raised himself up on his hard pillow and looked at it with appealing eyes.
“Not so very long ago,”—it went on presently, in a kind of sing-song monotone, “A man I knew went to a ‘Home’ something like this, only not quite so up-to-date and expensive. He was a bold, kindly, genial creature, fond of life and life’s pleasures. Something went wrongwith him and he consulted the doctors. They told him he had an internal ailment, but they could not tell whether it was ‘malignant’ or not, till they had, so to speak, ‘opened him up.’ He felt strong and hopeful, and consented to the operation. The surgeons did their work—and how they did it, of course, only they can tell. But it was, according to their own report, ‘successful.’ In forty-eight hours the warm-blooded personality of the man that had talked, smiled and jested with his own danger, was a mere lump of cold, stiff clay. He had relatives—oh yes!—he had children for whom he had worked all his life. What did they do? Why, they allowed his body which had so lately pulsated with love for them all, to be taken away from the ‘home’ in which he died, and laid in a dismal vault without a single soul to keep watch by it at night or say a prayer! The world is growing callous concerning the dead, you know! And they don’t keep corpses in‘Homes.’ When a man dies under an operation he must be ‘removed’ by his family at once. In this case the poor fellow was ‘removed’ to a chill city mortuary. His children, warm and comfortable, ate food as usual and discussed the funeral business. Down in the cold and darkness lay the once animated, cheery, generous-hearted man, alone—all, all, alone!—shut out from the movement and light of natural things, with no loving eyes to keep watch by his mortal remains,—no tender hands to lay flowers on his lifeless breast!—and yet sentimentalists talk about family love and home-affections! Oh hoo-roo!” And the Goblin actually had tears like sparks of fiery dew in its eyes—“You ought to be glad you’ve got no children, McNason! You’ve gotMONEYinstead! AndMONEYwill enable you to have your body carried home grandly to your country seat by special train! You can be laid out in state if you like!—provided you give the orderbefore Sir Slasher Cut-Em-Up arrives to-morrow—candles burning all round you and wreaths on your coffin,—it’s all done forMONEY!—and you can have a most expensive funeral,—a beautiful mausoleum,—a marble monument and a lying Epitaph! All forMONEY!Money’sa great thing, McNason!—and you’ve got it! Oh Beelzebub! You’ve got it! But you’ve got nothing else!”
At this juncture McNason suddenly sat up in bed.
“Yes, I have!” he said, with a kind of trembling eagerness—“I’ve got something else! I’ve gotYOU! And I want—I want to make a friend ofYOU!”
The Goblin opened its round eyes so wide that they threatened to fall out.
“Oh, you do, do you?” it queried doubtfully—“That’s odd! Now what put that into your head?”
“I don’t know—I don’t know!” stammered McNason agitatedly—“But I think——Ifeel——you don’t really want to do me any harm! Look here!—Get me out of this! Take me away—take me away—take me home!”
The Goblin took off its conical cap and examined the interior of that head gear with critical gravity. Its hair, in the all-round style, seemed blacker and stickier than ever, and its features worked into the most alarming contortions.
“Take you home!” it echoed—“What! Before Nurse Drat-Em-All comes back?”
“Yes—yes!” and Josiah wrung his hands imploringly; “Take me away at once——!”
“But you’re ill!” said the Goblin—“You’re very ill!”
“I’m not!”
“YouARE! You’ve got a cancer!”
“I haven’t!”
“YouHAVE! It’s called Selfishness! It is eating your life away,—poisoning your blood—rotting your Soul!”
“I’ll get rid of it!—I’ll—I’ll cut it out myself!”—and in his excitement McNason caught hold of the Goblin’s claw and pressed it fervently—“I will—I will! Only take me out of this! Give me a chance!”
“You’re feverish too!” continued the Goblin, severely. “Your temperature has gone up to the very highest point of Fraudulent Philanthropy!”
“I know—I know!—but it will be all right!—only let me get home, and you shall see—you shall see——!”
Here his voice ebbed away into a kind of choked sob.
“And I’m not sure that you haven’t got eczema,”—pursued the Goblin—“Your snobbish hankering after a Peerage will probably break out in a rash all over you!”
“It won’t!” said McNason—“It shan’t! I’ll—I’ll do whatever you tell me——!”
“Oh, will you really though!” And the Goblin sniffed the air with its terribly plastic nose very dubiously—“Do you meanit? Or is it all funk? And only because you want to get away from Sir Slasher Cut-Em-Up? I don’t believe in death-bed repentances!”
“It’s not—it’s not a death-bed repentance!” wailed McNason—“I don’t want this to be my death-bed! I want to die in my own home!”
“Ah! So does Willie Dove!” said the Goblin. “Perhaps you can understand now why his wife doesn’t want to send him to a Hospital!”
McNason shuddered. Time was flying fast, he thought—that cruel-looking Nurse Drat-Em-All would be coming back immediately!—and with an imploring cry he held out his arms to the Goblin.
“Ah, be good to me!” he moaned—“Take me home! I’ll promise anything—anything!”
“It’s easy to promise,”—said the Goblin, “Anyone can do that! But will you keep your promises? For instance, willyou think of some other few things besidesYOURSELF?”
McNason lifted his trembling hands in the fashion of one invoking the gods.
“I will!—I will!”
“You are a Man ofMoney,”—pursued the Goblin—“And with all theMONEYyou possess will you think ofPOVERTY? Of the thousands and thousands of human beings made of the same flesh and blood as yourself, who perish every year for lack of food? Of infants starving? Of patient genius, toiling for mere pence? Of delicate women working their lives away in order to provide sustenance for their children? Will you think of all these, and help them when you can?—not grudgingly, nor patronisingly,—but with a full heart and a generous spirit?”
Faintly as a bride at the altar, McNason murmured “I will!”
“You are a Man of Luxury,”—went on the Goblin—“Will you think ofCRIME?Of the woeful sins which wretched men are driven to commit through want and misery? Of the prisons, crowded with branded human creatures, who in nine cases out of ten owe their guilt to the evil persuasions of others more cunning, more treacherous and powerful than themselves! Of unhappy mothers, gone mad with despair, who have murdered their children rather than see them die of hunger! Of girls, once innocent,—betrayed, ruined and deserted by the villainy and cruelty of such devils in the shape of men that even Hell might close its doors against them! Will you think ofCRIME?—and, thinking of it, will you remember that it is often the sight of a man likeYOU,—over-prosperous, over-proud,—that helps to drive the poor into the labyrinths of envy, hatred, drink, murder and suicide! Will you think ofCRIME?—and do your best to fight against it with all your influence, all your power and all yourMONEY?”
And at this juncture the Goblin looked positively terrific. McNason quailed before its Gorgon eyes, and shivered.
“I—I will try!” he murmured.
The Goblin rose on its skeleton toes and lifted its skeleton arms. Its voice grew loud and shrill.
“You are a Man of Commerce and Calculation,”—it said—“Will you think ofWAR! Think of nation rising against nation and kingdom against kingdom! The beginning of sorrows! Think of widows and orphans!—think of thousands of dying and dead men! Of human blood springing hot to heaven and clamouring for vengeance! Of burning cities and wrecked ships! Hark! Listen to the rush of waters and the roll of guns!”
And now, as the Goblin spoke, there came a distant booming sound upon the air, mingled with the measured tramp of many marching feet, and hundreds of male voices strongly uplifted in defiant chorus:
“Wesweep the seas!Our glorious flag unfurl’dFrom North to South, from East to WestShines o’er the world!Our cannon’s bellowing thunderRoars with the roaring waves—For Britain’s foes wild ocean holdsNothing but graves!“Wesweep the seas!—On waters far and nearOur signals flash, and write in fireOurmeanings clear!No other land, no other raceCan match our British men!—They’ve won a thousand fights before,They’ll win again!“Wesweep the seas!—We rule the restless foam!We struggle not for place or pelf,We fight for Home!Loud let the shout of ‘Victory!’Ring on the fav’ring breeze,—Down with the foe ten fathoms deep!Wesweep the seas!”
“Wesweep the seas!Our glorious flag unfurl’dFrom North to South, from East to WestShines o’er the world!Our cannon’s bellowing thunderRoars with the roaring waves—For Britain’s foes wild ocean holdsNothing but graves!“Wesweep the seas!—On waters far and nearOur signals flash, and write in fireOurmeanings clear!No other land, no other raceCan match our British men!—They’ve won a thousand fights before,They’ll win again!“Wesweep the seas!—We rule the restless foam!We struggle not for place or pelf,We fight for Home!Loud let the shout of ‘Victory!’Ring on the fav’ring breeze,—Down with the foe ten fathoms deep!Wesweep the seas!”
“Wesweep the seas!Our glorious flag unfurl’dFrom North to South, from East to WestShines o’er the world!Our cannon’s bellowing thunderRoars with the roaring waves—For Britain’s foes wild ocean holdsNothing but graves!
“Wesweep the seas!
Our glorious flag unfurl’d
From North to South, from East to West
Shines o’er the world!
Our cannon’s bellowing thunder
Roars with the roaring waves—
For Britain’s foes wild ocean holds
Nothing but graves!
“Wesweep the seas!—On waters far and nearOur signals flash, and write in fireOurmeanings clear!No other land, no other raceCan match our British men!—They’ve won a thousand fights before,They’ll win again!
“Wesweep the seas!—
On waters far and near
Our signals flash, and write in fire
Ourmeanings clear!
No other land, no other race
Can match our British men!—
They’ve won a thousand fights before,
They’ll win again!
“Wesweep the seas!—We rule the restless foam!We struggle not for place or pelf,We fight for Home!Loud let the shout of ‘Victory!’Ring on the fav’ring breeze,—Down with the foe ten fathoms deep!Wesweep the seas!”
“Wesweep the seas!—
We rule the restless foam!
We struggle not for place or pelf,
We fight for Home!
Loud let the shout of ‘Victory!’
Ring on the fav’ring breeze,—
Down with the foe ten fathoms deep!
Wesweep the seas!”
“War!” said the Goblin, tossing its arms wildly as the sounds died away,—“War! Accursed, yet triumphant War!Think of it,YOU, with your millions!Canyou,willyou think of it withoutSPECULATINGin the wide-spread misery it involves? Without making moreMONEYon the traffic in blood? Without lending yourself and your wealth to wicked Contracts by which you steal from your Country’s government and line your own pockets?Canyou be true to the land in which you live?Canyou,—willyou boldly refuse to sell material assistance for your own personal advantage to your Country’s foes?”
Lashed into a fit of nervous desperation McNason almost shouted:
“I can! I can! And I will!”
Whereupon the Goblin put on its conical cap.
“You are coming round, McNason!” it observed encouragingly—“You are really coming round! I think you are better! Your temperature is lower—nearer the normal Principle! Principle is an excellent pulse—it’s firm and steady, and keepsthe whole body going wholesomely! Very few have it nowadays, and as a natural consequence the statistics of insane and diseased persons show an alarming increase! Now,”—this with an oblique but not unfriendly leer—“Are you sure you feel well enough to go home?”
“Sure—sure!”—and Josiah began to scramble out of bed in his excitement—“I’ll get my clothes on in a minute——”
“Won’t you wait for Nurse Drat-Em-All?” suggested the Goblin with a chuckle, “She’ll be back directly!”
“No—no—NO!” Here his voice faltered and died away as he discovered to his terror that he had no power to put his feet to the floor, nor could he reach his clothes. “Oh, I am so helpless!” he wailed—“So feeble and helpless! Oh dear, oh dear! What shall I do!”
“Have a split soda!” said the Goblin—“In this dear sweet ‘Home’ it’s onlysixpence! But if you put a B in it, it’s two shillings!”
Half mad with impatience, Josiah wriggled about in the bed, turning his imploring eyes on the relentless Goblin, who, perched on the quilt, was beginning to elongate itself in the most leisurely manner.
“I suppose you want to keep Christmas now!” it remarked presently—“And you’re in a hurry to begin. Is that it?”
“Yes—yes, that’s it!” stuttered Josiah, “You’ll take me, won’t you—you’ll take me——”
The Goblin waved its claw. And in another instant Josiah McNason stood erect, fully clothed, gazing fearfully up—up, ever so high at the indescribable face and form which now loomed like a monstrous bat above him. So tall had it suddenly grown and so thin,—so terrible were its goggle eyes,—so enigmatical its wide grin, that anxious as he was to depart from his present place of torture, he shook like a leaf in astiff breeze at the prospect of another “airship” voyage with such a fearsome skipper of the winds.
“One Timothy Two!” said the Goblin,—and its voice seemed to fall from some magic pinnacle reared miles above the clouds—“One Timothy Two! Grace, Mercy, Peace! Time to keep Christmas! Christmas Day and Christmas Bells! Come along! Come along! Home for the holidays! Off we go!”
Stooping forward like a giant Cloud from the sky, the Goblin whisked off the shrinking, shuddering millionaire as easily as a gust of wind whisks off the broken branch of a tree, and spreading its great wings, whirled with a wild “Hoo-roo-oo-oo!” out into the starry spaces of the night.
Now came soft pauses of silence,—flashing gleams of colour like broken rainbows floating at will through the pure ether,—glimpsesof clear sky wherein the greater planets shone gloriously, resembling revolving lights set in the watch-towers of Heaven,—straying films of pearly vapour through which the moon peered fitfully with a doubtful brilliancy—then lo! the dear familiar Earth, lifting its dark rim against the pale blue reaches of the morning—and then the Sun! Warm with its golden heart’s effulgence, the splendid Orb of life and health and beauty rose in a flood of glory over the mountain-tops and over the seas,—spreading radiance on the wintry fields,—illumining the leafless trees,—and deepening to a more vivid scarlet the berries of the thick green holly, and the dainty feathers on the breasts of the robins. And the Bells!—oh, the Bells! How they rang!—how they sang in all the turrets and steeples of every church that lifted its shining spire to the sunshine! “Peace—Good—will—! Peace—Good—will!” they seemed to say over and over again with sucha gladness and a thankfulness in their soft chiming as made the heart grow full of tenderness and tears! And now, all suddenly, a tremulous little chorus of small fresh voices began to mingle with the Bells’ sweet tune—
“God rest you, merry gentlemen!Let nothing you dismay!Remember Christ our SaviourWas born on Christmas Day!”
“God rest you, merry gentlemen!Let nothing you dismay!Remember Christ our SaviourWas born on Christmas Day!”
“God rest you, merry gentlemen!
Let nothing you dismay!
Remember Christ our Saviour
Was born on Christmas Day!”
Then came a pause,—a murmur—and again the quaint old melody began—
“God rest you, merry gentlemen!Let nothing you dismay!——”
“God rest you, merry gentlemen!Let nothing you dismay!——”
“God rest you, merry gentlemen!
Let nothing you dismay!——”
Uttering a smothered cry, Josiah McNason started to his feet. What—what was this? Where was he? Wildly he stared about him—and then with a kind of hysterical shout, recognised his surroundings.
“I’m at home!” he cried—“At home! In my own house! In my own room! Thank God!”
Pressing his hands to his forehead he gazed bewilderedly at every familiar object. There was his desk—his armchair,—(he seemed to have just sprung out of that chair)—the fireplace, where now there was no fire but only a heap of white ashes in the grate—the telephone—ah, that telephone!—his papers, books, letters, ink, pens—ledgers—and a cheque-book,... On this last object his eyes rested meditatively.
“It was a dream!” he muttered—“A horrible, horrible dream! Nothing else! It was a Dream!”
“ItWASN’T!”
The answer came sharply and with remarkable emphasis.
Josiah trembled violently. He was not yet alone then? A sudden thought struck him, and a light came into his eyes—a light new and strange, that gave them quite a youthful sparkle.
“At any rate,”—he said—“I’ll be before Pitt this time! I’ll—I’ll cut him out!”
And sitting down at his desk, he drew pen and paper to his aid, and wrote the following—
“My dear Sir,—I am exceedingly sorry to hear of your precarious condition of health, especially when I recall the strength and activity which used to distinguish you so greatly at one time when you did such excellent work for the firm. I understand from my overseer, Mr. Pitt, that a couple of hundred pounds will be useful to you at this particular juncture, and I have much pleasure in enclosing you a cheque for that amount as a slight testimony of my great appreciation of your former faithful services. Trusting you will pull through your illness, and assuring you of the great satisfaction it gives me to be of assistance to you in a time of need, believe me, with best wishes for a pleasant Christmas,“Yours obliged and sincerely.“Josiah McNason.”
“My dear Sir,—I am exceedingly sorry to hear of your precarious condition of health, especially when I recall the strength and activity which used to distinguish you so greatly at one time when you did such excellent work for the firm. I understand from my overseer, Mr. Pitt, that a couple of hundred pounds will be useful to you at this particular juncture, and I have much pleasure in enclosing you a cheque for that amount as a slight testimony of my great appreciation of your former faithful services. Trusting you will pull through your illness, and assuring you of the great satisfaction it gives me to be of assistance to you in a time of need, believe me, with best wishes for a pleasant Christmas,
“Yours obliged and sincerely.“Josiah McNason.”
Taking his cheque-book, he wrote the required formula, that Two Hundred Pounds (200l.) should be paid to William Dove “or order,” and signed his name “Josiah McNason” with a free proud dash under the signature that made it even more characteristic than usual. Putting letter and cheque in an envelope, he sealed and addressed it to “William Dove, Esq.,” and enclosed the whole packet in another envelope with a few words addressed to Mr. Pitt.
“I think,”—he said then, with a bland, almost smiling air—“that will do for Mr. Pitt! Mr. Pitt will find himself out of court this time!”
He got up from his desk and stood irresolute. Then he rang his bell.
“This must be taken by special messenger,”—he said—“There’s no late post on Christmas Day!”
He smiled, and rubbed his hands. At that instant the door opened, and hisservant Towler appeared, with a pale, rather scared face.
“Good-morning, Towler!”
“Good-morning, sir! Glad to see you well, sir!”
“Glad to see me well! Have I been ill, then?”
“No, sir I—at least I hope not, sir! But I went to call you at seven o’clock, as you told me, sir, and you weren’t in your room, and your bed hadn’t been slept in—and—I—er—didn’t know what to think, sir! I didn’t dare to come in here!”
“I was busy,”—said Josiah, calmly—“Very busy!—tremendously busy all night! What time is it now?”
“Nine o’clock, sir!”
“And it’s Christmas Day, isn’t it?”
“Yessir!”
“Here’s a sovereign for you,”—and McNason handed that coin to his astonished retainer—“And just get someone totake this letter to Mr. Pitt’s house at once. It’s important.”
“Yessir! Certainly, sir! Thank-you, sir! A Merry Christmas to you, sir!”
“Thank-you! Same to you!”
Backing deferentially out of his master’s presence, Towler ran downstairs as fast as he could into the servants’ hall, there announcing that “Something’s happened to the Governor! He’s too pleasant to last!”
And McNason, still standing thoughtfully by his desk, repeated again in an undertone:
“It was a Dream! It must have been a Dream!”
“ItWASN’T!” And a shrill falsetto voice rang clear on the silence. “Hoo-roo—oo—oo! Don’t you dare to callMEa Dream!”
And with a violent shock of renewed terror McNason saw, poised between him and the sunlight which poured through the windows, the Goblin, shrunk in size to the smallest quaintest creature possible,holding over its strangely shaped head a sprig of holly, exactly as a man holds an open umbrella.
“I’m going!” it said—“But don’t you be such a fool as to think yourself a Something and me a Nothing! You’ll make an awful mistake if you do!”
“I’m sorry!” said McNason, humbly—“I don’t want to make any more mistakes——”
“You’d better not!” said the Goblin, and its form began to grow more vague and indistinct—“You’ve got the chance you asked for—but if you lose it now——”
“I won’t!”
“What you would like to think was only a Dream, is a Supernatural Reality!” went on the Goblin; “It has all happened, or itwillhappen if you don’t take care! If your mind breeds disease, so will your body,—and Sir Slasher will have to be called in! And if he’s once called in,YOUwill be calledOUT!”
McNason shuddered,—but was silent.
“You’ve begun to keep Christmas in the proper way for the first time in your life,”—and the Goblin’s voice grew fainter and fainter—“But if you don’t go on keeping it!——”
“I will!” cried Josiah, eagerly—“I will!”
“In the spirit of One Timothy Two?”
“I will!”
“Grace—mercy—peace!”
The words floated on the air like a breath—and then, the Goblin turned its back and began to trot slowly away under its holly sunshade. Smaller and smaller it grew, till it looked no bigger than a tiny Christmas doll on a Christmas tree. And then all at once a shining tangle of golden curls and a glitter of sparkling eyes flashed against the window—a semi-circle of children pressed their round rosy faces close to the panes, and again began to sing:
“God rest you, merry Gentlemen!Let nothing you dismay!Remember Christ our SaviourWas born on Christmas Day!”
“God rest you, merry Gentlemen!Let nothing you dismay!Remember Christ our SaviourWas born on Christmas Day!”
“God rest you, merry Gentlemen!
Let nothing you dismay!
Remember Christ our Saviour
Was born on Christmas Day!”
Whereat the great Josiah McNason, multi-millionaire, laughed,—actually laughed! Going to the window he threw it open, and putting a hand into his pocket, he took out a bunch of silver.
“Hullo, youngsters!” he cried—“Christmas morning, eh? Here you are!”
Out flew threepences, sixpences and shillings in a shower.
“Fair play!” he exclaimed—“Equal profits! Don’t trample one on the other! Girls first, boys next! The strong must help the weak! That’s right!—all good friends together—all happy! No envy, no jealousy,—all peace and goodwill! A Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!” shouted the astonished children, as, jumping for joy, they gathered up their gifts.
“Merry Christmas!” lisped a small boy with a flaxen head, sturdily clambering up to the window from the lawn a couple of feet below, and looking boldly in the face of the world’s celebrated Rich Man;—“God Bless You!”
And the Rich Man answered gently:
“God bless you, little man!”
Then the whole group of young folks, determined to do the best they could for what they had received, burst out again in lusty chorus:
“God rest you, merry Gentle Man!Let nothing you dismay!Remember Christ our SaviourWas born on Christmas Day!”
“God rest you, merry Gentle Man!Let nothing you dismay!Remember Christ our SaviourWas born on Christmas Day!”
“God rest you, merry Gentle Man!
Let nothing you dismay!
Remember Christ our Saviour
Was born on Christmas Day!”
And Josiah McNason, listening quietly, while the old carol was sung through, saw, as he gazed beyond the children’s faces into the Christmas morning sunshine, a tiny Shape slowly disappearing into space—a Shape so delicate as to seem no more thanone of the sunbeams,—while a voice, fine and far, yet clear as a flute said:
“Remember!”
“I will!” he answered, under his breath.
“In the spirit of One Timothy Two, good-bye!” whispered the Goblin—“Grace—Mercy—Peace!”
“And Christmas Day!” said Josiah—“I shall remember!”
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber using the original cover and is entered into the public domain.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber using the original cover and is entered into the public domain.