“Cheerful and Christmassy like yourself, McNason!” repeated the Creature, at this juncture—” Don’t try hitting me with the poker, that’s a good fellow! You’ll hurt yourself if you do! — you really will! A blow on this” — and it touched its protuberant Paunch significantly—” would send you, — not ME! — into the middle of Next-World’s week! And you’re not ready for Next-World’s Week yet, McNason! There are a few little business matters concerning it which you don’t quite understand! Live and learn, you know! And how are you? You’re looking a bit lantern-jawed, — not very well preserved! I’ve seen finer men than you at your age!”
A cold perspiration broke out all over Josiah’s body as he found himself mysteriously compelled to meet the dreadfully glittering round eyes of the uncanny Object that discoursed with him thus familiarly. Faintly he managed to stammer forth —
“Who the — are you?”
“You were going to say ‘Who the Devil are you’ — and why didn’t you?” — retorted the Creature, rapidly untwisting one hairy arm from the embrace of one hairy leg and diving into its red body-covering, from which it produced a small card on which certain letters danced and flickered like tiny dots of flame—” Who the Devil am I? Here, the Devil, is my card! Promised you, the Devil, I would hand it to you, and so, the Devil, I do! Name’s quite easy, you’ll find!”
With shaking fingers McNason gingerly accepted the card held out to him by the unpleasant looking claw which served his visitor for a hand, and with great difficulty, owing to the constant jumping up and down of the inscribed characters, read:
PROFESSOR GOBLIN,
Hell’s United Empire Club.
McNason’s fingers shook more violently than ever, and he hastily dropped the card, which as it fell, curled up like a firework bag in a Christmas cracker, emitted a clear blue spark of light, and vanished into space.
“The title of ‘Professor’ isn’t really mine,” — explained the Creature, blinking at him with its owl-like orbs—” I took it.”
Sinking back in his chair, Josiah covered his eyes with one hand and groaned. He must be very ill, he thought! — he must be sickening for some fatal malady! His brain was going! — and this terrible visitation — this hallucination of his senses, was the sign and effect of a mental disorder which had come on suddenly and was rapidly growing worse! How long — how long would it last!
“Lots of fellows do it,” — observed the Goblin, after a brief pause.
Some compelling influence forced the panic-stricken millionaire to speak — to reply — in fact to keep up conversation, whether he liked it or not.
“Lots of fellows do what?” he murmured feebly, still holding one hand over his eyes.
“Call themselves Professors when they’re not,” — said the Goblin.
Here ensued a moment’s intense stillness. Even the noise of the storm outside had, for that short interval ceased, — the fire burned silently, — and not a breath stirred the air. Only the glowing tassel on “Professor” Goblin’s cap waved to and fro as though moved by an unfelt wind.
“When I rang you up on the telephone just now,” — resumed the Goblin —
But at this McNason jumped in his chair and uncovered his eyes.
“You rang me up? — you — you — !” he stammered.
“Yes — I! Who did you think it was, eh? Your ‘private wire ‘? Oh, Beelzebub! Nothing’s ‘private’ to me! I should ring up the Prime Minister out of his bed if I happened to want him!”
McNason felt the muscles of his back stiffening in horror.
“You would? — you would — ?”
“Certainly! I often use telephones! Capital things! They have to do with the currents of the air, you know! — and other folks work on currents of the air besides Humans! Humans aren’t the only people in the universe! Don’t look so scared, McNason! — I won’t hurt you! As I remarked before, when I rang you up just now, I wondered what title I should take to ingratiate myself with you. You like titles, I know! — you’ve been thinking of a Peerage for yourself — quite right too! Get all you can, McNason! — get all you can that money will buy! But as I never deal in Honours now, I couldn’t pass myself off as a Duke or an Earl. The man that sells these things is more in your line than mine. And I gave up brewing beer and running ‘party’ newspapers long ago, so I could hardly be a Lord. Besides Lords are getting so common — frightfully common, McNason! In fact Lords are becoming Commons! Oh, Beelzebub! Excuse the joke! And as for being a ‘Sir’ — oh, hoo-roo, hoo-roo!” And the Goblin, untwisting itself, beat its large paunch slowly in the fashion of a drum, evoking a dreary hollow sound which almost made McNason cry—” Only a provincial Mayor would accept it nowadays! I half thought I’d say I was a Colonel or a General, — but then you’d have taken me for an American, — and I wouldn’t be an American Bounder for twenty Next-Worlds! Then I decided I would be ‘Professor.” Professor’ struck me as being quite the proper thing; — nice-sounding, wise and imposing! — and anyone can call himself a Professor — even a palmist who robs poor silly dupes of money for telling their fortunes which neither he nor anybody knows! Hoo-roo! Hoo-roo! What humbugs there are in the world, McNason! You know that! You’re one!”
“I’m not!” said Josiah, indignantly, aroused to sudden defiance. “How dare you say I am!”
“How dare I! — How dare I!” crooned the Goblin, clasping its legs again and rocking itself to and fro—” Oh, Beelzebub! How high and mighty we are! I dare do anything, McNason! Anything! I’ll skin your soul!”
Josiah gave a smothered cry of terror. Such eyes as were now bent upon him were like nothing in the world except railway signal lamps with the light in them very much, intensified and enlarged.
“I’ll skin your soul!” repeated the Goblin, severely—” And you won’t like the process. Do you know what the process is called, McNason? No? Then I’ll tell you! It’s a blistering, flaying, scorching, boiling, steaming, tearing, crunching, blasting, stripping — (don’t groan like that, McNason!) — stabbing, cutting, piercing process called Truth! It will rip off all the lies in which you are so comfortably wadded, as lightning rips off the bark from a tree! And it will show you to be exactly what I say — a Humbug! A pious Fraud, McNason! A rich man who does no good with his money! A hard man who grinds down poor lives into ill-gotten gold! A cruel, avaricious, grasping, selfish man! And yet you go to Church every Sunday and pretend that you’re a Christian! Oh, hoo-roo! Uncharitable, mean, narrow minded and hypocritical, you are anything but a good man, McNason! — and I’ve come to tell you so!”
Gathering up his courage under this volley of abuse McNason turned round in his chair and deliberately faced his accuser.
“You’re a Bad Dream!” he said slowly—” You’re the result of Cold and Indigestion! You’re — you’re Nothing! But if you were Anything, I should tell you you are an impudent scoundrel and liar! I should tell you to get out of this room before you are kicked out! But you are only an Illusion! — a horrible, horrible Fancy! — and — and you’ll Go! — presently! — in a little while — when I am better — when my brain recovers itself—”
Here he broke off, appalled at the indescribably hideous grimace with which his unpleasant companion favoured him.
“Your brain!” echoed the Goblin. “Your brain indeed! Pooh! When you are better! Hoo-roo! You never will be better — never — not unless I doctor you! I must sk — k —— — —”
“No, no!” cried Josiah, seized by a paroxysm of fear—” Don’t skin me! Anything but that! Don’t,” — and his teeth clattered together—” don’t ski — i — in me!”
“Professor” Goblin relaxed its writhing features and smoothed them into a kind of wise impassibility such as is seen on the physiognomy of a Chinese idol.
“Now answer me, McNason,” it said, impressively—” Do you mean to say that you consider yourself a good man?”
Josiah looked at his inquisitor with one eye askew.
“As good as any
man,” — he muttered—” And better than most!”
“Oh, hoo-roo!” and the dismal cry was like a hundred owls hooting in chorus— “Hoo-roo! — hoo-roo! How these conceited mortals deceive themselves!” Here it patted its paunch echoingly. “As good as any man, are you, McNason? — and better than most! Now what have you done in order to get such a very excellent opinion of yourself, eh?”
McNason hesitated. Then the recollection of his vast wealth, and of his wide-reaching business influence flashed across his mind and filled him with a sudden spirit of self-assertiveness.
“I’ve done a good deal in my time,” — he said, boldly—” For one thing, I’ve made my own way in the world!”
“Ah! And without assistance?” queried the Goblin—” Without trampling any poor person down? Without ‘sweating’ labour? Without cheating anybody less ‘sharp’ than yourself?”
McNason was silent.
“You haven’t made your own way in the world!” — went on the Goblin relentlessly— “The men who have worked for you have made it! And you’ve screwed their lives down, McNason! — screwed them down hard and fast to pittance wages in order to wrest every penny you could for yourself out of their labour! And you’ve made a pile of money! Too big a pile by far, McNason! No man in the world makes such a pile without having wronged his fellow-men in some way or other! He has tried to tip the balance of justice falsely — but there’s one thing about that balance, McNason — it always rights itself! When a man is too rich — when a man has gotten his money through close-fistedness, harshness and avarice, then WE come in! We of Hell’s United Empire Club! We give a bloated millionaire fits, I can tell you! When he has got enough gold to gorge himself with expensive food and wine every day in the week if he likes, we take away his digestion! That’s capital fun! We take away his digestion, and the doctors come and limit him to milk and soda! Oh, hoo-roo!” And the Goblin doubled itself up in a writhing tangle of delight, “And when he marries for Money only and gets an heir to Money only, we take away the heir! And then by and bye he finds he can neither eat nor sleep, and that his Money isn’t such a valuable commodity as he thought it was, not even though it can buy a Peerage! And when he is harsh and unkind and uncharitable, we sk — k — in his soul!”
“I’m not uncharitable!” cried Josiah, goaded almost to frenzy by the darting menace of the terrible eyes that glared fixedly into his own—” Not even YOU can say that! I’ve given hundreds and hundreds of pounds away in charity—”
“On subscription lists — yes! I know you have!” and “Professor” Goblin nodded sagaciously—” I’ve seen your name writ large along with the names of a lot of other bounders who want the world to see how much they’ve given to a hospital! But that’s not charity!”
“Not charity!” echoed Josiah. “Then what is charity?”
“Shall I tell you?” said the Goblin. “You’ve heard, but you’ve forgotten!” And it repeated in a row, almost gentle voice—” ‘Charity suffereth long and is kind, charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; Rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in the truth; Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.’ That’s as unlike your charity, McNason, as Heaven is unlike Hell!”
“Any devil can quote Scripture!” said McNason, contemptuously—” I hear all that in Church!”
“You hear, but you don’t listen,” — said the Goblin—” You go to Church every Sunday?”
“I do! My clergyman relies very much on my assistance.”
Does he now?” and the Goblin put its head questioningly on one side—” Financial assistance, of course?”
McNason gave a short laugh.
That’s the only kind of assistance he ever asks for!”
Good man!” said the Goblin, thoughtfully—” And you help him?”
“Very considerably.” Here McNason drew himself up stiffly with an air of importance—” I’m a Churchwarden.”
At this “Professor” Goblin uttered a frightful yell.
“Hoo-roo, hoo-roo, HOO-ROO!” it cried, “The dear old days! The sweet familiar word!” And springing suddenly into the air, it turned a rapid somersault and came gravely squatting down again—” Oh, Beelzebub, McNason! I was once a Churchwarden!” Josiah trembled in every limb, and his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth in sheer panic. The alarming abruptness of his unwelcome visitor’s movements almost paralysed him with terror. Somehow he had thought the Creature might be a kind of fixture to the arm of his chair, — an hallucination of his eye and brain which was likely perhaps to stay in one position, — but its eldritch screech and somersault upset his logic altogether and turned him sick and dizzy.
“I was once a Churchwarden!” said the Goblin, beginning to emit a spluttering laugh from a grimacing mouth—” Oh, hoo-roo! And I looked so respectable! Tell me, McNason! — do you wear a top-hat on Sundays?”
The shuddering millionaire bent his head feebly in assent.
“So did I! So did I!” And the Goblin clasped its toes and hugged itself in a kind of ecstasy—” And a black frock-coat! So nicely brushed! So well-fitting! I had a figure in those days, McNason! And I walked into Church with brightly polished boots, creaking just a little to show they weren’t paid for — because it isn’t ‘gentlemanly’ to pay for what you wear right down on the nail, you know! — and I bent my back before all the people and breathed good little prayers into the crown of my top-hat, just where I could see the name of the hatter printed in gold on the silk lining! I did! Oh, they were happy days! Happy humbug days! Gone, gone, gone! I shall never be a Churchwarden any more!”
Here, unravelling its contorted body, it put its clawlike hands up to its face and began to weep.
“Oh, hoo-roo!” it blubbered—” When I was a Churchwarden people were all so respectful to me! I had a country seat — such as you have, McNason! — and a whole parish bowed down to me! Think of that! Farmers doffed their caps, and farmers’ wives curtsied to me! The clergyman spoke of me as his ‘high-minded and generous neighbour!’ Oh, hoo-roo! I was so proud of myself! — as proud as a Scotch landlord! — and nothing’s prouder than that! Hoo-roo! Hoo-roo! Those happy humbug days! I gave myself such airs! — such touch-me-not airs, McNason! I might have been an up-to-date Highland chief in a kilt, my airs were so superior! You know what an up-to-date Highland chief is, McNason? — a man who lets his ‘dear native home,’ and his ‘beloved’ moors and forests for all he can get, and lives a gay life in London on the profits! A proud and pompous creature, McNason! — and I was just such a one! I was really! Talk of patriotism and love of country! I had it all! — I was as parochial as a town clerk! I had such a grand manner! — so stand-offish! And now — and now—”
Here it beat a dreary tattoo on its expressive Paunch—” Oh, hoo-roo! — I shall never be a Churchwarden any more!”
A clammy perspiration bedewed Josiah’s brow. That hollow drumming sound was dreadful! — if the horrible Creature would only stop it! —
“Don’t do that!” — he muttered, feebly, “I — I can’t bear it!”
“Can’t bear what?” demanded the Goblin, quite briskly.
“That sound you make on — on—”
“On my Tum-Tum? Oh, Beelzebub!
You oughtn’t to mind that! Turn-Turns are what all you men live for now-a-days! One of your dramatists has made a play out of a Tum-Tum. Poor old Shakespeare! He was never as clever as that! I always lived for my Tum-Tum — and of course it’s now the largest part of me. I have to tell it everything, — and when I beat it, it knows what I mean!”
Josiah huddled himself back into the depths of his easy chair and closed his eyes, — if he could only swoon away, he thought! — if he could but lose his sight and hearing in a merciful unconsciousness! — A low snarling murmur, breathing through the casements, under the door, and down the chimney, now gave warning of the fresh and
fiercer rising of the wind, and presently down it swooped with a terrific battery of hail, and such a scream and uproar of rage as is seldom heard save in tropical forests, when huge trees fall crashing under the blow of a storm, and torrents hurl themselves headlong from the summits of the mountains sweeping tons of granite with them like straws into the valley below. At that instant the clock began striking Midnight. One! — Two! — Three! — Four! — Five! — and to McNason’s horror the Goblin suddenly sprang upright. If it had looked uncanny before, it looked a thousand times more uncanny now. Poised on the arm of the chair its lean toes and legs began to stretch, — its body to lengthen, — taller and taller it grew, its Paunch showing as prominently and roundly as a full moon on a winter’s night, — its head with its oily hair, conical cap and tassel seemed to be rising steadily into the ceiling, and Josiah, clenching his hands convulsively, watched the process in fearful fascination, — was this the way the awful hallucination would vanish? Was it going? — would the horrible Nightmare elongate itself gradually into fine lines, and, mingling with the atmosphere, disappear altogether?
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli Page 932