"Aha, you smile!" said the goblin. And it was a positive fact; the baron was smiling; a thing he hadn't been known to do in the memory of the oldest inhabitant. "That's the stuff to make your hair curl, isn't it?"
"I believe you, my b-o-o-oy!" The baron brought out this earnest expression of implicit confidence with true Paul Bedford unction. "It warms one—here!"
Knowing the character of the man, one would have expected him to put his hand upon his stomach. But he didn't; he laid it upon his heart.
"The spell begins to operate, I see," said the goblin. "Have another glass."
The baron had another glass, and another after that. The smile on his face expanded into an expression of such geniality that the whole character of his countenance was changed, and his own mother wouldn't have known him. I doubt myself—inasmuch as she died when he was exactly a year and three months old—whether she would have recognized him under any circumstances; but I merely wish to express that he was changed almost beyond recognition.
"Upon my word," said the baron, at length, "I feel so light I almost think I could dance a hornpipe. I used to once, I know. Shall I try?"
"Well, if you ask my advice," replied the goblin, "I should say, decidedly, don't. 'Barkis is willing,' I dare say, but trousers are weak, and you might split 'em."
"Hang it all," said the baron, "so I might; I didn't think of that. But still I feel as if I must do something juvenile!"
"Ah! that's the effect of your change of nature," said the goblin. "Never mind, I'll give you plenty to do presently."