and their names was Brandy, Whisky, Rum, an’ Gin.  But they’ve cost me a good deal, an’ somehow they ain’t quite what they used to be.  They used to make me merry for a while, now and then; but they’ve taken now to burnin’ up my inside, an’ filling my ’ead with devils; an’ I’m gettin’ afeard of ’em, an’ they’ll ’ave to see me through to the end.

“Fifty year,” he resumed, after another interval of brooding, “an’ not one ‘appy day.  I was a-thinkin’ of it over to myself, and, says I, ‘What’s the reason on it?’ The reason is, ’cos I ain’t never ’ad money.  Money means ‘appiness, an’ them as never ’as money, ’ll never be ‘appy, live as long as they may.  Well, I went on a-sayin’ to myself, ’Ain’t I to ’ave not one ‘appy day in all my life?’ An’ it come to me all at once, with a flash like, that money was to be ’ad for the trouble o’ takin’ it—­money an’ ’appiness.”

The bleared eye rolled with a sort of self-congratulation, and the coins jingled more loudly.

“A pound ain’t no use; nor yet two pound; nor yet five pound.  An’ five pound’s what I never ’ad in fifty year.  There’s a good deal more than five pound ’ere now, Mr. Waymark; I’ve reckoned it up in my ‘cad.  What d’ you think I’m a-goin’ for to do with it?”

He asked this question after a pause, with his head bent forward, his countenance screwed into the most hideous expression of cunning and gratified desire.

“I’m a-goin’,” he said, with the emphasis of a hoarse whisper, “I a-goin’ to drink myself dead!  That’s what I’m a-goin’ to do, Mr. Waymark.  My four friends ain’t what they used for to be, an’ ’cos I ain’t got enough of ’em.  It’s unsatisfaction, that’s what it is, as brings the burnin’ i’ th’ inside, an’ the devils in the ’cad.  Now I’ve got money, an’ for wunst in my life I’ll be satisfied an’ ‘appy.  And then I’ll go where there’s real burnin’, an’ real devils—­an’ let ’em make the most o’ Slimy!”

Waymark felt his blood chill with horror.  For years after, the face of Slimy, as it thus glared at him, haunted him in dreamful nights.  Dante saw nothing more fearful in any circle of hell.

“Well, I’ve said my say,” Slimy remarked, rising from his seat.  “An’ now, I’m sorry I’ll ’ave to ill-convenience you, Mr. Waymark.  You’ve behaved better to me than most has, and I wouldn’t pay you in ill-convenience, if I could help it.  But I must have time enough to get off clear.  I’ll ’ave jist to keep you from ’ollerin’—­this way, see—­but I won’t hurt you; the nose is good enough for breathin’.  I’ll see as some one comes to let you out before to-morrow mornin’.  An’ now I’ll say good-bye, Mr. Waymark.  You won’t see Slimy in this world again, an’ if I only knowed ’ow to say a prayer, why, I’d pray as you mightn’t never see him in the next.”

With one more look, a look at once of wild anticipation and friendly regret, Slimy disappeared.