he said, 'to spend my last hours on earth with
an ass.' But I was not offended. 'And a treacherous ass,' he strangely
added, tossing across to me a crumpled bit of paper which he had been
holding in his hand. I glanced at the writing on it--some sort of
gibberish, apparently. I laid it impatiently aside.

'Come, Soames! pull yourself together! This isn't a mere matter of life
and death. It's a question of eternal torment, mind you! You don't mean
to say you're going to wait limply here till the Devil comes to fetch
you?'

'I can't do anything else. I've no choice.'

'Come! This is "trusting and encouraging" with a vengeance! This is
Diabolism run mad!' I filled his glass with wine. 'Surely, now that
you've SEEN the brute--'

'It's no good abusing him.'

'You must admit there's nothing Miltonic about him, Soames.'

'I don't say he's not rather different from what I expected.'

'He's a vulgarian, he's a swell-mobsman, he's the sort of man who hangs
about the corridors of trains going to the Riviera and steals ladies'
jewel-cases. Imagine eternal torment presided over by HIM!'

'You don't suppose I look forward to it, do you?'

'Then why not slip quietly out of the way?'

Again and again I filled his glass, and always, mechanically, he emptied
it; but the wine kindled no spark of enterprise in him. He did not eat,
and I myself ate hardly at all. I did not in my heart believe that any
dash for freedom could save him. The chase would be swift, the capture
certain. But better anything than this passive, meek, miserable waiting.
I told Soames that for the honour of the human race he ought to make
some show of resistance. He asked what the human race had ever done for
him. 'Besides,' he said, 'can't you understand that I'm in his power?
You saw him touch me, didn't you? There's an end of it. I've no will.
I'm sealed.'

I made a gesture of despair. He went on repeating the word 'sealed.'
I began to realise that the wine had clouded his brain. No wonder!
Foodless he had gone into futurity, foodless he still was. I urged him
to eat at any rate some bread. It was maddening to think that he, who
had so much to tell, might tell nothing. 'How was it all,' I asked,
'yonder? Come! Tell me your adventures.'

'They'd make first-rate "copy," wouldn't they?'

'I'm awfully sorry for you, Soames, and I make all possible allowances;
but what earthly right have you to insinuate that I should make "copy,"
as you call it, out of