Josiah moaned helplessly.
“Sir Slasher Cut-Em-Up is a great vivisector,”—proceeded the Goblin, cheerfully—“He knows where to find every little nerve and muscle in the body of a dog, for instance. I don’t say your body is at all like that of a dog!—I know your Soul isn’t half so honest or so faithful! Sir Slasher has had more than a hundred innocent animals under his scalpel—all poor, trustful, good creatures whom he has pinned and stretched in every possible position on his rack of torture—whose nerves he has severed—whose muscles he has galvanized—and whom he has killed as slowly, as ruthlessly and as criminally as any Torquemada that ever roasted a heretic to the sound of sacred music! Hoo-roo! Sir Slasher knows a thing or two, I can tell you! He’s a licensed murderer of the harmless and helpless,—but even a dog’s soul has a place in the eternal countings, as Sir Slasher may find out to his cost when he becomes a member of our United Empire Club! He cut up a dog yesterday—now he’s going to cut up YOU! You’re a splendid subject for him, you know! You’ve got so much MONEY!”
Again Josiah moaned in a stupor of fear.
“You’ve got so much MONEY!” repeated the Goblin, smacking its wide lips as though it were tasting something savoury,—“And MONEY’s a great thing! Money has enabled you to come to this ‘Home’—one of the most select ‘Homes’ in London! Oh, Home Sweet Home! Oh happy, happy Home! It’s the special pet ‘Nursing Home’ of Sir Slasher Cut-Em-Up, where he’s got the matron and all the nurses under his big Thumb! Oh, hoo-roo! Such a dear Home! You pay Five Guineas a week for your room to begin with,—and then when you’re very ill, you pay Ten. Afterwards, when you get worse and are likely to die, you pay Fifteen. The nurse is extra. If you have two nurses you have two extras. Everything apart from the room and the bed is ‘extra.’ If you want a bottle of soda water you pay sixpence for a ‘split,’ ninepence for a full. And so on! And so on! Oh, what a dear ‘comfy’ Home! There aren’t many like it in London, I can tell you! Only a few—a beautiful, blessed few!”
At this moment, the personage whom the Goblin designated as Sir Slasher-Cut-Em-Up finished his conversation with his younger colleague, and both gentlemen smiled pleasantly, not to say flirtatiously, at the grey-gowned nurse.
“Twelve o’clock to-morrow will do very well,” said Sir Slasher—“We shall leave you to make all the preliminary arrangements, Nurse Drat-Em-All. He’s asleep just now, I see!”
“I’m not asleep!”—gurgled McNason, feebly.
But Sir Slasher apparently did not hear. He stood by the bedside, smiling blandly, his hands clasped behind him under his coat-tails.
“One of the richest men in the world!” he ejaculated, appreciatively—“Dear me, dear me! Ah well, well! Has he any family?”
“None,”—said Nurse Drat-Em-All—“He had one son, I believe, who died in childhood.”