Chisholm turned his gaze back at the oncoming file of shades. They were ghastly cartoons of himself, and malicious ones at that. Many of them were unintelligible.
"Hey," he said, "what's that thing coming up—that slender wisp of smoke with the lumpy feet? If that is a conception of me, the guy that thought it up has gone surrealistic."
The demon looked.
"Oh, that. Yes, it's weak. It is offered by a fellow named Percy Hilyer. He roomed with you at school and has almost forgotten you. He does remember that you were lean and lanky then and used to swipe his socks and wear holes in them."
"That's a hell of a thing to hold against a guy," complained Chisholm.
The demon shrugged.
"That is the way reputations are made. How do you like this one?"
"This one" was the rambunctious shade who had tried to take charge of the meeting at the outset. He was egregiously repulsive.
"That," announced the demon blandly, "is the contribution of one Maizie Delmar. Judging from its robustness and solidity, she knew you recently and well."