“I don’t want her back!” groaned McNason, making an attempt to draw up the bed-quilt in order to cover his eyes, in which effort he did not succeed—“I don’t want anything! Leave me alone!”
“Sorry I can’t oblige you!” replied the Goblin—“I can’t leave you alone till you leave YOURSELF alone! And Nurse Drat-Em-All must come back to attend to her duties! She’s got a lot of things to do to you!”
McNason peered over the extreme edge of the bed-quilt.
“A lot of things to do to me?” he echoed, whimperingly—“What—what will she do?”
“She will wash you first!” said the Goblin, briskly—“All over! Oh, such a nice wash! Made of carbolic disinfectant! And you will be so clean—outside you!”
Josiah closed his eyes shudderingly.
“And then you will be put into a new flannel night-shirt,”—went on the Goblin—“And you will perhaps be allowed a cup of hot milk or beef tea. And when you’re nice and warm and clean and cosy, Nurse Drat-Em-All will come and tell you to prepare for your end!”
“No—no!” cried McNason—“I’m not ill!—and I’m not ready—!”
“You are ill!” declared the Goblin, firmly—“And never mind about not being ready for your end. Nurse Drat-Em-All will make you ready! She’ll tell you what a very serious and expensive matter it will be to slice you up scientifically to-morrow—and she will ask you where your cheque book is——”
“I won’t tell her—I won’t—” stuttered McNason.