the right spirit and the proper form before. You were just in the right
spirit this time, and when you called for your most pitiless enemy I was
that person by a very large majority, though you did not suspect it.”
“Well, did that remark of mine turn you into flesh and blood?”
“No. It only made me visible to you. I am unsubstantial, just as other
spirits are.”
This remark prodded me with a sharp misgiving.
If he was unsubstantial, how was I going to kill him? But I dissembled,
and said persuasively:
“Conscience, it isn’t sociable of you to keep at such a distance. Come
down and take another smoke.”
This was answered with a look that was full of derision, and with this
observation added:
“Come where you can get at me and kill me? The invitation is declined
with thanks.”
“All right,” said I to myself; “so it seems a spirit can be killed, after
all; there will be one spirit lacking in this world, presently, or I lose
my guess.” Then I said aloud:
“Friend–”
“There; wait a bit. I am not your friend. I am your enemy; I am not
your equal, I am your master, Call me ‘my lord,’ if you please. You are
too familiar.”
“I don’t like such titles. I am willing to call you, sir. That is as
far as–”
“We will have no argument about this. Just obey, that is all. Go on
with your chatter.”
“Very well, my lord–since nothing but my lord will suit you–I was going
to ask you how long you will be visible to me?”
“Always!”
I broke out with strong indignation: “This is simply an outrage. That is
what I think of it! You have dogged, and dogged, and dogged me, all the
days of my life, invisible. That was misery enough, now to have such a
looking thing as you tagging after me like another shadow all the rest of
my day is an intolerable prospect. You have my opinion my lord, make the
most of it.”
“My lad, there was never so pleased a conscience in this world as I was
when you made me visible. It gives me an inconceivable advantage. Now I
can look you straight in the eye, and call you names, and leer at you,
jeer at you, sneer at you; and you know what eloquence there is in
visible gesture and expression, more especially when the effect is
heightened by audible speech. I shall always address you henceforth in
your o-w-n s-n-i-v-e-l-i-n-g d-r-a-w-l –baby!”
I let fly with the coal-hod. No result. My lord said:
“Come, come! Remember the flag of truce!”
“Ah, I forgot that. I will try to be civil; and you try it, too, for a
novelty. The idea of a civil conscience! It is a good joke; an
excellent joke. All the consciences I have ever heard of were nagging,
badgering, fault-finding, execrable savages! Yes; and always in a sweat
about some poor little insignificant trifle or other–destruction catch
the lot of them, I say! I would trade mine for the smallpox and seven
kinds of consumption, and be glad of the chance. Now tell me, why is it
that a conscience can’t haul a man over the coals once, for an offense,
and then let him alone? Why is it that it wants to keep on pegging at
him, day and night and night and day, week in and week out, forever and
ever, about the same old thing? There is no sense in that, and no reason
in it. I think a conscience that will act like that is meaner than the
very dirt itself.”
“Well, WE like it; that suffices.”
“Do you do it with the honest intent to improve a man?”
That question produced a sarcastic smile, and this reply:
“No, sir. Excuse me. We do it simply because it is ‘business.’ It is
our trade. The purpose of it is to improve the man, but we are merely
disinterested agents. We are appointed by authority, and haven’t
anything to say in the matter. We obey orders and leave the consequences
where they belong. But I am willing to admit this much: we do crowd the