“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.