"I'm Dr. Bills," was the response, in a deep, malarial voice, as the phantom, for that is all it was, approached me. "I've come to help you out of your troubles," it added, rather genially.
"Ah? Indeed!" said I. "And may I ask how you know I am in trouble?"
"Certainly you may," said the old fellow. "We ghosts know everything."
"Then you are a ghost, eh?" I queried, although I knew mighty well at the moment I first saw him that he was nothing more, he was so transparent and misty.
"At your service," was the reply, as my unexpected visitor handed me a gelatinous-looking card, upon which was engraved the following legend:
U. P. BILLS, M.D.,
"The Spook Philanthropist."
Troubles Cured While You Wait.
"Ah!" said I, as I read it. "You'll find me a troublesome patient, I am afraid. Do you know what my trouble is?"
"Certainly I do," said Bills. "You're a little short and your wife and children have expectations."