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 (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 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! — 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 mista
kes —— —— —— —— —”
“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, multimillionaire, 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
Delicia and Other Stories
CONTENTS
KITTUMS
THE GHOST IN THE SEDAN CHAIR
A BREACH OF POST-OFFICE DISCIPLINE
TWO OF A ‘TRUST’
THE DESPISED ANGEL
THE HIRED BABY
Please note: Delicia appears in the Novels section of this eBook.
KITTUMS
AN EVERY-DAY STORY
A DAMP, cold dawn in the City; slimy, sludgy streets over-hung by a penetrating fog, which now and then melted into drizzle and dropped sooty tears on the faces of office-boys, caretakers, road-scavengers, step-scrubbers, and various other items of that hard-working, poor section of humanity which occupies itself in “cleaning out” and “clearing after” the richer section which is able to pay for having its business premises so cleansed. Humble ants are these, using up all their energies in removing the dirt and débris of the larger specimens of their tribe, — who should trouble about them, or be curious to know at what age, or under what circumstances such creatures began to scrub and sweep, to polish or to wipe? For instance, no one cared about Kittums. She was merely “the girl who washed down the steps” at Messrs. Moses and Aaron’s Oil-Mining and Refining-Process Offices. Messrs. Moses and Aaron were very great personages (they have always been great personages from time immemorial), and they had never even seen Kittums. They visited their offices once or twice rather late in the day, and mostly in company with other gentlemen of their race and calling, and for the rest of their time they drove motor-cars, and dined with the King. They had big noses; they also carried “corporations” with considerable majesty. What should they know of Kittums? — a mere dirty slavey of ten, who, wearing large boots minus any stockings on the feet inside, and a cotton frock next her skin in all weathers, without any other sort of clothing “under” or outer, came every morning at six o’clock to valiantly grasp a house flannel nearly as big as herself, with her small chilblain-afflicted hands (which turned blue and red, and sometimes black, under the assault of mingled air and hot water), and to wash down twenty-four marble steps for the proud wage of Two Pence! Two Pence was a great deal to Kittums. Briefly, it meant breakfast, which her mother could not afford to give her. And she had to go to school — so the gentlemen of the British Government had arranged and decided, — and if she went to school without any breakfast (which idea had apparently never entered the heads of the gentlemen of the British Government), she, to use her own expression, “tumbled right off.” Which meant, in more specific language, that she fell in a dead faint — a faint more real, and quite as “interesting,” as the swoon of the fine lady in Mayfair “with nerves.” Kittums had “tumbled right off” in this manner several times, and had been sharply reproved for “giving way,” and “making a fuss.” So, as she was quite old in difficult experience, having been nurse and maid-of-all-work to her mother since she was five years old, she had cast about in her mind how to manage the earning of a breakfast before going to school. The job of washing down Messrs. Moses and Aaaron’s marble stairway had been offered her by a friendly charwoman who cleaned out Messrs. Moses and Aaron’s offices, but who found the stairs “trying” to her unwieldy proportions. Kittums had accepted the offer gratefully, and almost with tears. And ever since, she had looked upon the charwoman as a sort of Lady Bountiful, “much more good to me than I deserves,” she was wont to say, with a pathetic sniff, as she wrung out the big house-flannel, and wiped the marble steps carefully, leaving no speck or flaw to offend the fastidious gaze or the shiny boots of Messrs. Moses and Aaron.
Taken as Nature made her, Kittums was a very little girl. But as circumstances had formed her, she was a very weary little woman. Her young body was half starved and weak, her childish limbs were appallingly meagre, and her small peaked, pale face, set in an untidy tangle of dark hair, had a weird wistfulness of expression that was more than aged. But she had beautiful eyes, — eyes blue as a summer sea, melting as dew on an iris-petal. They were true Irish eyes, — the heritage of her Irish birth and blood. Her father had been killed in a drunken brawl, and she had little or no memory of his existence. Her mother was a sack-maker by trade, — that is, she sewed coal-sacks by the dozen, — as many coal-sacks in a day as her blistered hands would allow her to make at starvation wages. She could do nothing else for a living, inasmuch as her late husband having on one occasion flung her downstairs in a fit of fury, her spine was so injured that she could not walk. Kittums used to help her s
ew the sacks, in the “between times” of Board School hours. Kittums was her sole support. Without Kittums she would have died. But with Kittums she managed still to say that God was very good to her.
Kittums had not always been Kittums. Her name was Kate O’Boyne, and in her earlier youth she had been called Kitty and “Kate a’cushla,” by her loving, if ailing mother. A young gentleman was responsible for the sobriquet of “Kittums” — a dirty, grimy, impudent, reckless and casual young gentleman, who turned somersaults willingly for a halfpenny, played marbles in the gutter, and got his precarious living by selling the latest “Speshuls” to city men as they came tumbling helter-skelter out of their offices, and scurried along the streets with that fagged and impatient movement of body which always denotes utter weariness of brain. Shouting at the top of his youthful voice, which was becoming hoarse and tuneless through hard exertion, running along through mud and slush, with his batch of “literature” tucked under his arm, and now and then thrusting a copy of the “earliest” or “latest” special under even such proud noses as those possessed by Messrs. Moses and Aaron, “‘Owlin’ Jim” as his mates used to call him, ‘owled incessantly, sending forth on the startled air shrill cries of “Heen Piper!” (Evening Paper), or “Herly Morn Speshul! Orful skandy! in ‘igh life!” or about mid-day, “Hall the winners! King’s Ly — Vee!— ’Ere y’are, Sir! — Spesh — Ull!”
“‘Owlin’ Jim’s” real name was Jim Batsby, and he took a certain pride in it and in himself as well. “Jim Batsby knows a thing or two!” he was wont to say, with an air of careless condescension and patronage intermingled, for the benefit of the less experienced and younger of his sex in the news vending business. And Jim Batsby was almost an object of innocent worship in the eyes of Kittums. He, passing the offices of Messrs. Moses and Aaron in the early morning to get his batch of first “speshuls,” had noticed her regular appearance on the marble stairway, with a large pail which she could scarcely carry, house-flannel, and such provision of soap as may be warranted not to wash clothes, but to merely blister fingers, and had likewise observed with approving eye the punctilious care with which she performed the cleansing of those steps on which the glorious feet of many of the Children of Israel were prone to wander. And from silently observing her, he had then taken to nodding familiarly at her, and had by and by drifted naturally into conversation.
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22) Page 938