That every one might see
How ‘good’ we were,--much better far
Than other folks could be!--
We slandered all our dearest friends,
Told all the lies we could,
And chose our own front seats in Heaven,
Because we were so ‘good’!
“And now we find that other folks
Whom we thought very BAD,
Were better than OURSELVES at best,
And ALL the Morals HAD!
And sad to say, we’ve lived to learn,
That shuffle as we would,
No HUMBUG lasts in Heaven or Hell
Not even--‘BEING GOOD’!”
Renewed yelping, and “hoo-roos” of diabolical laughter followed this
vocal effort, and the miserable Josiah McNason felt cold trickles of
perspiration running down his back as he listened. Yet he could not
speak. Speech for the moment was taken from him,--he tried to utter
some word--some ejaculation,--but his tongue was stiffened in his mouth
as though it were paralysed. And he was forced to pay close attention
to the “Reverend Mr. Firebrand” whether he liked it or not.
“Oh my friends!” pursued that grim and ghastly preacher--“How I thank
you for that beautiful hymn! How sweetly it expresses our innermost
feelings! Does it not, my friends? Oh yes, indeed it does! And our
brother here--our Human brother--does it not express _his_ feelings
likewise? Yes--oh yes!--indeed it does!”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha! Ha-HA!” shrieked the Goblins--“Indeed it does! Ha-HA!”
“Our Human brother,” went on “Mr. Firebrand”--“is a ‘good’ man----”
“Hoo-oo! Hoo-roo!--Hoo--oo!”
“A ‘good’ man because, my friends, he has made Money! Money is
Morals,--Morals are Money! Our Human brother is a rich man,--therefore
virtuous. Virtue, as you all know, consists in being rich,--Vice in
being poor. Our Human brother is also a wise man. Wisdom consists
in looking after Number One. He does that! He has always done it
admirably! Number One is to him the centre of the universe. And we
sympathise with him, do we not, my friends? Oh yes, oh yes, we do!
For we also, in former days--we also looked after Number One. Not One
Timothy Two! No--no! One Self One! That was our text in life. And we
acted up to it, did we not, my friends? Oh yes, we did--we did! We
should not be here now if we had not looked after Number One!”
“Hoo-roo!--oh--oh--Hoo-roo!”
And the wild cry had a dismal note in it this time like the shriek of
the wailing wind.
“Again, my friends,”--went on the Goblin “Firebrand,”--“Our Human
brother is a charitable man. We all know what charity is, do we not?
Oh yes, we do! Charity begins at home! Charity never gives a penny
away unless it can get something for itself out of the bargain!
Charity never subscribes to anything unless it can see its name
printed on a subscription list! That’s Charity, my friends!--as WE
understand it--as our Human brother understands it! The Charity which
distinguished US when we,--like our Human brother,--wore frock-coats
and top-hats on Sundays, was a charity which suffered nothing and was
never kind,--envied everybody,--vaunted itself greatly,--was always
puffed up,--often behaved itself unseemly,--sought its own,--was easily
provoked,--thought evil of most things,--rejoiced in iniquity,--hated
the truth,--bore nothing,--believed nothing,--hoped nothing,--endured
nothing! This is the Charity of Human Nature--material Human
Nature!--and our Human brother is a glorious living example of it!
Soon--oh yes!--very soon!--our charitable Human brother will give
twenty thousand pounds to a hospital. How generous! How noble! The
poor and sick will benefit,--but our Human brother will not be left
out in the cold! Oh no! He will buy a Peerage with the money and also
with an additional ‘little diplomacy.’ And he will be a lord!--oh my
brethren, how great a thing it is to be a lord! Do we not know this?
Yes, indeed, indeed we do! Some of us have been lords, and some of us
have been commons. Both sets have their advantages. But when one is
a lord, one can do so much! One can become the ‘noble’ director of
bogus ‘Companies,’ and pocket a fee for attendance at every meeting!
And one can owe bills to one’s tailor for an indefinite period! And
one can sell one’s self and one’s ‘nobility’ to any American female
title-hunter who will pay sufficient cash down! Oh yes, my brethren,
it is a great thing to be a lord! And when our Human brother is a
lord, he will be so proud and glad that he won’t know himself! He is a
good man now, but when he becomes a peer, he will be a better one! Oh
yes, my friends!--the world and Human Nature generally will find him
better, wiser, more generous, more charitable, more everything that is
pleasant, beautiful, and truthful! Will it not be so? Yes, indeed it
will be so! We know it will be so, for we were all ‘good’ men! I myself
was a ‘good’ man--once!”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha! Ha-HA! Ha-ha-ha-ha!”
And like twisting boughs of trees in a storm, the goblins swayed and
rocked themselves to and fro, convulsed with laughter.
“I say I was a ‘good’ man!” repeated the demon preacher, leaning down
over the edge of the green pulpit, and rolling its goggle eyes at its
audience, particularly at the shuddering McNason--“Good in the sense
that you and I and our Human brother understand goodness! I wore a
top-hat----”
“Ha-ha!”
“_And_ a frock-coat----”
“Ha-ha!”
“And I went to Church every Sunday----”
“Ha-ha-HA!”
“I took round the collection-plate----”
“Ha-ha!”
“And I always put a sixpence into it myself--never less--never more!”
“Ha-ha-ha! Ha-HA!”
“When any poor man asked me to help him, and said he had a large family
to keep, I told him he shouldn’t have a large family----”
“Ha-ha-ha!”
“I never sacrificed my own comfort or convenience at any time on any
account, and I never parted with a penny I thought it better to keep!
I was a most respectable man!”
“Hoo-roo-oo! Hoo-roo!”
“Now, my friends, I will ask you in the spirit of One Timothy Two
to consider the interesting subject of my discourse,--our dear
Human brother! He, too, is most respectable! He is even more than
respectable, for he is a millionaire! And not only a millionaire, but a
multi-millionaire! He is all Money! Oh, my friends, how good it is to
be all Money! All Money and no Heart! Heart is never respectable--it is
always a scoundrel! Always trusting the wrong people, loving the worst
sinners, and making a fool of itself in business! Oh yes, my friends,
Heart is desperately wicked! But our dear Human brother has none of it.
Let us congratulate him! Especially at this time of year,--this dreary,
melancholy, grumbling-time--when all the world’s tiresome little
children want holiday treats, and all the tradesmen send in their
bills,--this wretched, stupid, depressing season when even WE are made
uncomfortable----”
“Hoo-oo-oo! Hoo-roo!”
And now the Goblins beat their paunches desperately and instead of
laughing, began to weep. One cadaverous-looking creature took off its
woman’s hat, large as an extra large lamp-shade, and shed tears into it
as though it were a bucket.
“Ah--ee!--ah--ee!” it sobbed--“How I do hate the compliments of the
season! I always did! When I was a Human, I always had to tip my butler
and my coachman on what they called Boxing Day! They expected it,--the
Brutes! Ah--ee!--ah--ee! Such bitter, bitter memories!”
Other wailings and groanings of a similar nature arose in chorus,
and even Josiah McNason’s own particular companion goblin moaned and
blubbered.
“It _is_ a terrible time!” it whimpered--“A terrible, terrible time!
Everybody expects everybody else to give them something! Such a waste
and such an expense! Oh, hoo-roo!”
Again Josiah essayed to speak,--but his tongue still refused to utter.
“At this depressing period,” went on the ranting “Firebrand”--“When
stupid Humans wished each other to be ‘Merry’ without any cause for
merriment, it is a great joy to find so sensible and practical a person
as our dear, rich, wise friend Mr. Millionaire McNason among us! Yes,
my brethren, it is a great joy! For _he_ never wished anyone a ‘merry’
or even a happy time in his life, and quite right too! He never wanted
to be ‘merry’ himself--never felt like it--never looked like it! He is
the master of a great Business and has no time for Sentiment. Sentiment
is an imbecile quality pertaining to girls, women and fools. And our
Human brother is not a fool! Oh dear no! He is living precisely
as he wishes to die;--he is making himself into one of US with all
possible speed! And how clever that is of him! His only regret is that
he will have no use for Money when he becomes a member of our United
Empire Club:--and that to be a lord will give him no extra privileges!
Otherwise, he is perfectly satisfied with Himself--just as we all used
to be perfectly satisfied with Ourselves! And are we not satisfied
with ourselves still? Oh yes, my brethren!--oh yes, we are satisfied,
because we are compelled to be satisfied! There is no getting out of
Our condition! We chose it, We made it, and here We are! And in the
spirit of One Timothy Two, we exhort our Human brother to continue in
the self righteous way he is going! We beseech him never to be ‘merry,’
never to be kind! We implore him never to either lend or give money to
those in need, not even to an old and faithful servant! For old and
faithful servants are just as great humbugs as any other class of
persons! Moreover gifts are always resented, and kindnesses considered
as merely personal advertisements of generosity! Let our Human brother
always be as he is now, and so shall he reap the just reward of his
labours! The just reward!--the just reward----”
Here the bells suddenly began again, pealing their chimes with a
delicious softness as though far, far away.
“Soon, very soon,” continued the “Firebrand,” lifting both its skeleton
arms aloft from the enshrouding folds of its black draperies--“for our
Human brother the joys of money-making will be no more! Soon, very
soon, the demands upon his Purse will cease, and his weary eyes will
close for the last time upon the pleasant sun! Soon, very soon, he will
hear no more ‘compliments of the season’--nor will he be troubled by
the hand-shake of a friend, or the suffering appeal of the sick and
needy. Soon, very soon, his ears will be deaf to all entreaties or
messages--he will not even hear the message of the Bells! The Bells!”
Here the Goblins all began to jump and dance up and down, up and
down,--and turning their hideous faces towards Josiah McNason they
bowed and bobbed before him, shouting and shrieking:
“The Bells! The Bells!”
“The message of the Bells!” reiterated the demon orator, waving its
bony hands excitedly--“Grace, mercy, peace! One Timothy Two! Soon, very
soon, our dear Human brother will be offended by that message no more!
Soon--very soon--he will be one of US!”
With a tremendous effort, Josiah suddenly regained his speech.
“Never!” he cried, with extraordinary passion--“Never will I be one of
You! Never, so help me God!”
As he spoke, a sudden terrific roar of mingled flame and wind sounded
in his ears,--the peacock’s tail of light playing up like foam against
the Green Pulpit leaped to an abnormal height, and swallowed up the
“Reverend Mr. Firebrand” in a twinkling,--then, spreading itself into
a rolling stream of fire it swept over the crowd of Goblins and drove
them all helter-skelter before it like dead leaves drifting in a
hurricane, engulfing them all out of sight save one,--the self-styled
“Professor” that still, with its bone of an arm thrust familiarly
through McNason’s, remained beside him as it were “on guard.” The Green
Pulpit vanished, and nothing remained of the whole shadowy building
that had seemed to be a Church, save the great organ, where now instead
of a Goblin, sat a boy acolyte dressed in a little white surplice.
Under his tender young fingers the notes breathed tremulously but
sweetly, and presently he opened his cherub mouth and sang:
“O be joyful in the Lord, all ye lands,--serve the Lord with gladness
and come before his presence with a song!”
Here the anthem was taken up by some mighty invisible choir:
“Be ye sure that the Lord He is God; it is He that hath made us and not
We Ourselves----”
And all at once a white cloud filled the near and distant spaces
like the rushing-in of a wave, and on this opaque pearly vapour came
floating a great number of dazzling Angelic Shapes, wonderfully fair,
gloriously beautiful, carrying palms in their uplifted hands and
singing:
“Glory! Glory to God in the highest! And on earth, peace and goodwill!
Glory to God!”
Stricken with a great awe, Josiah McNason looked and listened. He
trembled violently. Should he kneel? He wondered! He had often
_pretended_ to kneel in Church--though he had really only bent his back
slightly for convention’s sake, but now----?
Before he could make up his mind one way or the other the Goblin’s
clutch descended once more upon his coat-collar.
“Come along, McNason!” it whispered, “We must go now! We’re not wanted
here! Come!”
“Oh! Leave me alone, for Heaven’s sake!” muttered Josiah
pleadingly--“Let me stay here! Why take me away?”
“Why? Because they’re beginning to keep Christmas! We don’t believe in
Christmas, do we? We say ‘Curse Christmas’ don’t we? Of course we do!
Come along! _You’re_ not wanted and _I’m_ not wanted! One Timothy Two!
Off we go!”
* * * * *
Another terrible rush and hurry-scurry through unknown heights and
depths of the stormy air, and then with a sudden swoop and pounce, the
Goblin dumped Josiah McNason down outside the garden gate of a pretty
cottage in a quiet country lane. Here, as if by magic, the sky cleared
to a bright blue, and the sun shone out brilliantly. Birds began to
sing, and the scent of a thousand flowers perfumed every light breath
of wind.
“A little bit of sunshine, McNason!” whispered the Goblin--“It’s winter
time for a good many Humans in many places, but it’s always summer
here. It’s what WE call a ‘spiritual’ climate,--not affected by outside
conditions!”
The suffering millionaire, breathless, exhausted and conscious of a
great aching pain at his heart, gazed at the peaceful scene before him
in silence. It was a very little garden upon which he looked,--a mere
tea-cup of a garden,--but full to the brim of the sweetest blossom. The
cottage to which the garden belonged was likewise very small, but it
had a deep and cosy porch, up which the loveliest jessamine clambered
and threw out tufts of odorous white spray. Red roses thrust their
warm glowing faces through the masses of snowy bloom, and, twining
in friendly garlands, showered their velvety petals at the feet of a
fair woman who sat just within the porch, with her arms thrown round a
sturdy boy of some nine or ten years old. She was well worth the homage
of the roses--for she was very sweet to look upon,--fresh-complexioned
as the bloom on a peach,--soft-eyed,--full-bosomed, and of an aspect
expressing the serenest peace, love and tenderness.
“Once upon a time!” she said.
“Oh, mother!” cried the boy she clasped, “That’s the old way of telling
a story! Try some other way!”
She laughed.
“Darling, there’s no other way! Everything was ‘once upon a time’
wasn’t it?” The little fellow looked up at her seriously.
“No, I don’t think so! You could never say you were my mother ‘once
upon a time,’ could you? You are my mother always!”
“Always!” she murmured--“That’s very true, little man! Your mother
always!”--and her lips moved silently--“On earth, and, please God, in
Heaven!”
Josiah McNason, peering over the garden gate, now tried to open it, but
found it inflexibly closed against him. He heaved an involuntary sigh.
The Goblin echoed the sigh derisively.
“Heigh-ho, Beelzebub!” it said--“Good-looking woman, eh, McNason? And
a pretty boy! That’s her youngest. She’s got three sons and a lovely
daughter. Feel a bit envious, McNason? Don’t you wish you hadn’t jilted
her?”
Josiah started. A sense of fear and shame began to tingle through his
long-chilled blood.
“She is--she----?” he faltered.
“Exactly! That’s it!” said the Goblin. “She--she IS! The girl whose
first affections you won and threw over! That was a nasty trick
of yours, McNason! You did it for Money--yes!--you’ve always done
everything for Money! But the girl deserved a better fate than either
YOU or your MONEY!--and she’s got it! There she is--a beloved woman,
wife, and mother. Just as pretty as you’re plain! She’s poor and you’re
rich. But she’s contented and you’re wretched! She has three sons--all
clever bright boys,--and you haven’t an heir to your name! You treated
her like a CAD,--and she has married a MAN! He hasn’t millions, but he
has Heart. Heart is a curious thing, McNason! You don’t know what it
is, but it’s really a curious thing! It makes Happiness,--and you don’t
know what _that_ is either!”
McNason listened dreamily. All desire to resent or deny the Goblin’s
accusations had died out of him. He looked yearningly over that
barred garden gate as an unforgiven sinner might look at the closed
doors of Paradise. So that beautiful woman with the golden-haired boy
was Lilias? Lilias was her name, he remembered;--he had called her
familiarly by it in the old days,--days which he recalled now with
a sense of imminent desolation. Lilias had married and was happy.
Did her happiness please him? No, he could not say it did. A bitter
jealousy burnt in his soul,--a wrathful impatience with Deity. Why was
the future veiled? Why were men left so much in the dark concerning
their destinies? How could he ever have guessed that Lilias would have
ripened from the timid, pretty, trusting girl he had known, into this
gracious, lovely, and loving woman with all the sacred sweetness of
home enfolding her as securely as a rose is enfolded by the cherishing
summer air! And still he looked at her,--and still the bitterness in
him grew yet more bitter, and in a kind of impotent anger he shook the
garden gate with both his hands, determined to force it open.
“Steady, McNason!” said the Goblin at this juncture--“You’re not
master here, you know! Every man’s house is his castle! You want to
be a burglar, do you? So like you! I know a lot of fellows who feel
that way! When they see a man happier than themselves, with a nice
wife belonging to him, they try to steal the wife away and make him
wretched! It’s a fashionable pastime with them, and they call it
‘Souls!’ Oh, Beelzebub! When they find out what Souls really _are_,
won’t they be sorry for themselves! Come along, McNason!”
But Josiah clung to the garden gate.
“Lilias! Lilias!” he called.
But Lilias, laughing, was playing with her boy’s curls, and neither
turned her head nor raised her eyes. The Goblin chuckled.
“Think she can hear you, do you?” it inquired
mockingly--“Oh--hoo-roo!--what a fool you are, McNason! She is as far
away from you as you are from her--and that’s a pretty long distance,
I can tell you! You’re out in the storm and wind--she’s in the full
sunshine! As I told you, she enjoys a ‘spiritual’ climate--supernatural
weather! But you don’t believe in the supernatural, do you, McNason? Of
course not! Why should you! You don’t believe in anybody but yourself!
Not even in Me! Oh Beelzebub! Come along, come along!”
“Where to?” cried the miserable man, “Where in the name of Heaven do
you want to take me next?”
“You shouldn’t talk about Heaven,”--said the Goblin, severely--“That’s
a ‘supernatural’ place. I don’t want to take you _there_, you may be
sure! It wouldn’t suit you at all! Nor me! Come along, come along!
Don’t hanker any more after what you have lost and can never find
again! Sentiment is Stupidity--Money is Wisdom! Think of that! It
makes you one of the wisest men on earth! Come! I’ve got another old
friend waiting to see you--urgent appointment! Come along, I tell you!”
And the Goblin made a vicious grab at McNason’s coat-collar. “Don’t
_yearn_ like that! You’re too old to play Romeo, and ever so much too
ugly! Hoo-roo-oo-oo! One Timothy Two!--and away we go!”
* * * * *
Out into the storm again on the wings of the bitter winter wind!
All the sunshine of the “spiritual” climate vanished, and a great
panorama of dark clouds moved rapidly through the freezing air.
Clouds everywhere!--clouds of fantastic form and giant shape,--clouds
like rocky fortresses set on the summits of high mountains,--clouds
resembling huge ruminative animals wallowing in ether,--clouds heavy
and threatening, suggesting pent-up thunder and jagged flame! Like a
couple of midges the Goblin and its human victim were tossed from edge
to edge of the thick rolling vapours, and when they descended to earth
once more, Josiah McNason found himself in the small “best parlour” of
an unpretentious residence,--one in a row of similar dwellings in an
unpretentious street.
“Keep your eyes open, McNason!” said the Goblin--“And your ears! Nobody
sees YOU, you know, or ME! We’re invisible. And if you want to curse
and swear, do so by all means! Nobody hears, and nobody cares!”
Josiah looked, and saw before him a man reclining in an invalid chair
near a small bright fire, his eyes fixed on the sparkling flames with
a patient and wistful sadness. A pale, sweet-faced woman with soft
brown hair somewhat silvered, knelt by him, clasping one of his hands
tenderly in her own. There were traces of tears on her worn thin
cheeks, and her lips quivered. And standing close by, with one arm
resting on the mantelpiece, and eyes bent compassionately down upon the
pair, was another man whom McNason had no difficulty in recognising as
his overseer, Mr. Pitt. Yet his surprise at this was so great that he
could not forbear an exclamation.
“Pitt here! How the devil----!”
“Exactly!” said the Goblin--“How the devil and why the devil! Only the
devil knows!”
Josiah groaned, and then the overpowering dumbness that had seized him
before caught him again in its paralysing power. Stricken mute himself,
he was nevertheless forced to listen with the closest attention to all
that passed around him. And when Pitt spoke, the sound of that equable
familiar voice sent a new and violent shock through his already racked
nervous system.
“Mr. McNason is a man of iron,”--said Pitt--“There’s no doubt about it!
In fact he’s harder than any metal, for metal can be made to melt, and
he can’t!”
The man in the invalid chair moved restlessly.
“Did he remember me at all?--did you remind him?--” he murmured.
“Yes, Willie, I did! I even recalled the days when you used to carry
his little son on your shoulder round to see the works--and I said,
‘Dove was one of the smartest men in your employ, and brought valuable
custom to the firm.’ But it was all no use--no use!” He paused and then
addressed himself gently to the woman who knelt by her husband’s side.
“I am sure, Mrs. Dove, you believe that I have done my best?”
“Indeed, indeed, I know you have!” she answered earnestly--“And,--after
all--I never had much hope. Mr. McNason must have endless claims upon
his purse--and memory! It is so seldom one finds a very very rich man
who cares to help little outside troubles like ours--” Here her voice
trembled dangerously, and she ceased.
Willie Dove sighed a little wearily.
“Ah well!” he said--“I did my best for him in my day! And I thought
he might possibly be disposed to do me a good turn now. It’s true I
haven’t so many years before me, but I’ve got some working power left
if I could only get well----”
“I’m afraid it’s my fault, Will!” said his wife piteously. “You
could, of course, go to the Hospital and doctors would attend to you
there--but oh! I couldn’t bear it!--I couldn’t bear it!” And here her
self-control gave way, and she began to sob--“I couldn’t bear to see
you taken away from me after all the years we have spent so happily
together! I couldn’t bear to think of you ill, and in a place where I
could only get at you at stated times, with strangers always about you!
It is very foolish of me and perhaps very wrong--but I--I cannot help
it!”
Her husband stroked her bent head with his thin delicate hand.
“Don’t cry, Jennie!” he said softly--“I won’t go away from you! I’d
rather die!”
Mr. Pitt coughed obstreperously.
“Look here, Dove,” he said--“Don’t let us be miserable on Christmas
Eve! I left McNason himself looking as wretched as a plucked crow. Poor
old chap! With all his money, I wouldn’t be in his shoes for the world!
Tell me, what did the doctor say when he saw you to-day?”