"Ah, you don't know! " said Marley's Ghost, with an air of satisfaction. "That strengthens my opinion that they are not famous; and yet they claim that they are well known in literary circles. They are characters in Henry James's 'The Two Magics.'"
"Never read it," said I; "but of course they're not famous at all, compared with you and old Hamlet."
"No," said Marley's Ghost, and he might be pardoned for clanking his chain a little ostentatiously, "but then, of course, they're younger. A hundred years hence, perhaps—"
"Yes," said I, "perhaps. And now, who is the dissatisfied-looking gentleman near them?"
"That," said Marley's Ghost, "is Tomlinson."
"Ah," said I, "Kipling's Tomlinson. I know him."
"Yes?" And do you call him famous?"
"It's so hard to say," I answered. "To my mind, he is worthy of fame, but many readers do not agree with me. And he, too, is young."
"Yes," said Marley's Ghost, "but I was famous when very young. Why, the ghost of Nell Cook and the Drummer of Salisbury Plain in the 'Ingoldsby Legends,' or even 'Gilbert's Phantom Curate,' are better known than they."
"Yes," said I, thoughtfully, "or the extremely up-to-date ghosts of Frank R. Stockton, John Kendrick Bangs, and F. Marion Crawford."
The discussion became more general, and soon all the ghosts were arguing the question of "What is fame?" Peter Quint loudly asserted his claims on the ground that his author was the most famous of living novelists. "That may be," said Marley's Ghost, "but I am personally acquainted with a living gentleman who says he never read 'The Two Magics.'"
"Pooh!" said the Ghost of Peter Quint, "fame does not necessarily imply popularity. Because it was not one of the six best -selling books is no reason why the book I am in should not be considered famous. My author would scorn to be popular, but all the world calls him famous. Therefore, I am famous."
