Part 7

“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 wrong with 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 got MONEY instead! And MONEY will 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 order before Sir Slasher Cut-Em-Up arrives to-morrow--candles burning all round you and wreaths on your coffin,--it’s all done for MONEY!--and you can have a most expensive funeral,--a beautiful mausoleum,--a marble monument and a lying Epitaph! All for MONEY! MONEY’S a 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 got YOU! And I want--I want to make a friend of YOU!”

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----I feel----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!”

“You ARE! You’ve got a cancer!”

“I haven’t!”

“You HAVE! 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 mean it? 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, will you think of some other few things besides YOURSELF?”

McNason lifted his trembling hands in the fashion of one invoking the gods.

“I will!--I will!”

“You are a Man of MONEY,”--pursued the Goblin--“And with all the MONEY you possess will you think of POVERTY? 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 of CRIME? 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 of CRIME?--and, thinking of it, will you remember that it is often the sight of a man like YOU,--over-prosperous, over-proud,--that helps to drive the poor into the labyrinths of envy, hatred, drink, murder and suicide! Will you think of CRIME?--and do your best to fight against it with all your influence, all your power and all your MONEY?”

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 of WAR! 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:

“WE sweep 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!

“WE sweep the seas!-- On waters far and near Our signals flash, and write in fire OUR meanings clear! No other land, no other race Can match our British men!-- They’ve won a thousand fights before, They’ll win again!

“WE sweep 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! WE sweep 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! _Can_ you, _will_ you think of it without SPECULATING in the wide-spread misery it involves? Without making more MONEY on 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? _Can_ you be true to the land in which you live? _Can_ you,--_will_ you 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 keeps the 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 only sixpence! 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 a stiff 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,--glimpses of 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 such a 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 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!----”

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!”

“It WASN’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.”

Taking his cheque-book, he wrote the required formula, that Two Hundred Pounds (200_l._) 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 his servant 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 to take 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!”

“It WASN’T!” And a shrill falsetto voice rang clear on the silence. “Hoo-roo--oo--oo! Don’t you dare to call ME a 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 it _will_ happen 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, YOU will be called OUT!”

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 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 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 than one 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:

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.