“When you were here before,” said Billings, impressively, without having once mentioned champagne, “you scoffed at a light which you couldn’t see. Now, my friend, I am going to let you see it with your own eyes, and you shall tell me whether or no you are convinced that it is possible for one human being to exchange his entity with another. If I have brought you here on a wild goose chase, I am willing to have you procure a judicial examination into my sanity, and I will abide the issue.”
He spoke with so much quiet gravity that he made me feel creepy.
“See here, old man,” I said; “do you mean to tell me that you have succeeded in pairing off with any other fellow’s Ghoollah, or Woollah, or whatever it is?”
“No,” he said, coloring a little; “it’s not I. It’s—it’s—it’s—in fact, it’s that boy Penrhyn.”
“What the deuce do you mean?” I demanded.
“I mean that Arthur Penrhyn has changed, or, rather, is changing his spiritual essence with another man.”
“Indeed,” said I; “and who’s the other man?”
“Randolph Mitchel,” said Billings.