the pages and pages in the
catalogue: 'Soames, Enoch' endlessly--endless editions, commentaries,
prolegomena, biographies"-- But here he was interrupted by a sudden
loud crack of the chair at the next table. Our neighbor had half risen
from his place. He was leaning toward 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--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 theaters the dullest comedien needs only to say 'The devil!'
and right away they give him 'the loud laugh what 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?
What you have said just now gives me furiously to hope."

Soames had not moved except to light a fresh cigarette. He sat
crouched forward, with his elbows squared on the table, and his head
just above the level of his hands, staring up at the devil.

"Go on," he nodded. I had no remnant of laughter in me now.

"It will be the more pleasant, our little deal," the devil went on,