George looked up, afrighted; he'd given himself away again with no need. "Yes, sir," he sighed resignedly, "I thought that if we got up a good hot act we might be able to wangle a few guest shots with the Celestial Choir. Actually, we've worked out a really sock arrangement of the Wham Bam Blues. I'm sure that if you heard it...."
"No!" the Supreme Head roared. "You couldn't! Of all the unmitigated...!" He stopped and waited for his spleen to subside. "George Pillsworth," he said, "you are insufferable."
"I suppose so, sir," George said. "However my intentions...."
"Blast your intentions!"
"Yes, sir. I'm very sorry."
"Never mind. In that case it's probably just as well that things are as they are. It'll be a great relief to be rid of you."
"Rid of me?" George said fearfully. "You aren't going to...?"
"Unfortunately, no," the Supreme Head sighed. "What I mean is that your mortal part, Marc Pillsworth, has got himself shot."
George looked up sharply. His whole aspect changed; his eye brightened; his entire being grew more alert. "I'm to be sent to Earth as a permanent haunt? Oh, sir...!"