He's dismayed to be reminded that he's dead. "The Gang" is watching him with amusement; he is tiresome in his attitude and vocal mannerisms, and it's a guilty pleasure to see him shut up, sit down, and be confronted with the truth of his ectoplasmic nature.

One of the reasons I hate and despite everything Hanna-Barbera did in this period - besides the endless quantities of crap they turned out, and the meretricious artistry that characterized every syallable, line, note and phoneme - was the way the characters all looked the same. But there was something different about her. I think the intern drew her. Or the guy who ran the coffee-and-donuts cart that came through the office in the morning.