man can't read the
books that are written about him. A hundred years hence! Think of it!
If I could come back to life then--just for a few hours--and go to the
reading-room, and READ! Or better still: if I could be projected, now,
at this moment, into that future, into that reading-room, just for this
one afternoon! I'd sell myself body and soul to the devil, for
that! Think of the pages and pages in the catalogue: "SOAMES,
ENOCH" endlessly--endless editions, commentaries, prolegomena,
biographies'--but here he was interrupted by a sudden loud creak of the
chair at the next table. Our neighbour had half risen from his place. He
was leaning towards us, apologetically intrusive.

'Excuse--permit me,' he said softly. 'I have been unable not to hear.
Might I take a liberty? In this little restaurant-sans-facon'--he spread
wide his hands--'might I, as the phrase is, "cut in"?'

I could but signify our acquiescence. Berthe had appeared at the kitchen
door, thinking the stranger wanted his bill. He waved her away with his
cigar, and in another moment had seated himself beside me, commanding a
full view of Soames.

'Though not an Englishman,' he explained, 'I know my London well, Mr.
Soames. Your name and fame--Mr. Beerbohm's too--very known to me. Your
point is: who am _I_?' He glanced quickly over his shoulder, and in a
lowered voice said 'I am the Devil.'

I couldn't help it: I laughed. I tried not to, I knew there was nothing
to laugh at, my rudeness shamed me, but--I laughed with increasing
volume. The Devil's quiet dignity, the surprise and disgust of his
raised eyebrows, did but the more dissolve me. I rocked to and fro, I
lay back aching. I behaved deplorably.

'I am a gentleman, and,' he said with intense emphasis, 'I thought I was
in the company of GENTLEMEN.'

'Don't!' I gasped faintly. 'Oh, don't!'

'Curious, nicht wahr?' I heard him say to Soames. 'There is a type of
person to whom the very mention of my name is--oh-so-awfully-funny! In
your theatres the dullest comedian needs only to say "The Devil!" and
right away they give him "the loud laugh that speaks the vacant mind."
Is it not so?'

I had now just breath enough to offer my apologies. He accepted them,
but coldly, and re-addressed himself to Soames.

'I am a man of business,' he said, 'and always I would put things
through "right now," as they say in the States. You are a poet. Les
affaires--you detest them. So be it. But with me you will deal, eh