"But how do you know anyone will bring it out?" I said doubtfully. "Am I to haunt the publishers' offices till--" "No, no, I will do that," he interrupted in excitement. "Promise me you will help me." "But I don't feel at all sure it stands a ghost of a chance," I said, growing colder in proportion as he grew more enthusiastic. "It is the only chance of a ghost," he pleaded. "Come, give me your word. Any of your literary friends will get you a publisher, and where could you get a more promising ghost?" "Oh, nonsense!" I said quietly, unconsciously quoting Ibsen. "There must be ghosts all the country over, as thick as the sand of the sea." I was determined to put the matter on its proper footing, for I saw that under pretence of restoring my fortunes he was really trying to get me to pull his chestnuts out of the fire, and I resented the deceptive spirit that could put forward such tasks as favours. It was evident that he cherished a post-mortem grudge against the great lexicographer, as well as a posthumous craving for fame, and wished to use me as the instrument of his reputation and his revenge. But I was a man of the world, and I was not going to be rushed by a mere phantom. "I don't deny there are plenty of ghosts about," he answered with insinuative deference. "Only will any of the others work for nothing?" He saw he had scored a point, and his eyes twinkled. "Yes, but I don't know that I approve of black-legs," I answered sternly. "You are taking the bread and butter out of some honest ghost's mouth." The corners of his own mouth drooped; his eyes grew misty; he looked fading away. "Most true," he faltered; "but be pitiful. Have you no great-grand-filial feelings?" "No, I lost everything in the crash," I answered coldly. "Suppose the book's a frost?" "I shan't mind," he said eagerly. "No, I don't suppose you _would_ mind a frost," I retorted witheringly. "But look at the chaff you'd be letting me in for. Hadn't you better put off publication for a century or two?" "No, no," he cried wildly; "our mansion will pass into strange hands. I shall not have the right of calling on the new proprietors." "Phew!" I whistled; "perhaps that's why you timed your visit now, you artful old codger. I have always heard appearances are deceptive. However, I have ever been a patron of letters; and although I cannot approve of post-mundane malice, and think the dead past should be let bury its dead, still, if you are set upon it, I will try and use my influence to get your book published." "Bless you!" he cried tremulously, with all the effusiveness natural to an author about to see himself in print, and trembled so violently that he dissipated himself away.