The Devil

Outside in the streets his joy increased. Nothing had mattered. Beneath all surface sensations there was the deep fundamental rapture: as of a wild animal that has been caught, and is now loose and free--a squirrel that has escaped from the trap, and, whisking and bounding through sunlight and shadow, understands that its four paws are still under it, and that only a little of its fur is left in those iron teeth. Security after peril--articulate man or dumb brute, can one taste a fuller bliss?

But he must share and impart it. Mavis! He might not go dashing back to Hampshire--the fortnight's exile prevented him from joining her there. A broad grin spread across his face. What was that learned saying that his old schoolmaster, Mr. Fenley, used to be so fond of repeating? "If Mahomet can not go to the mountain, the mountain must come to Mahomet."

The memory of this classical quotation tickled him, and he went chuckling into the Cannon Street post office and wrote out a telegraph-form.

"Reinstatement. Come at once. Shall expect you this evening without fail."

Having sent off the telegram, he presently ordered his dinner in the grill-room of a Ludgate Hill restaurant.

"Yes, let's see your notion of a well-cooked rumpsteak. And I'll try some of the famous lager beer.... Oh, bottle or draught's all one to me;" and he snapped his fingers and laughed. "Now, sharp's the word, Mister waiter. I'm fairly famished."

The lager beer, served in a glass vase, was delicious--sunbeams distilled to make a frothing and unheady nectar. The grilled steak and the fried potatoes could not have been better done at the Buckingham Palace kitchens. Never for three weeks had food tasted like this. All had been dust and ashes in his mouth since the row began.

Then with appetite satisfied and digestion beginning, he smoked.

"If you've anything in the shape of a really good threepenny cigar, I can do with it. But don't fob me off with any poor trash. For I've my pipe in my pocket."

The waiter said he had a truly splendid threepenny; and Dale, enjoying it, talked to the waiter. He could not help talking; he could not help laughing. After so much silence it was a treat to hear the sound of his own loud, jolly voice, and he gave himself the treat freely.

"You're from the country, sir," said the waiter, politely.

"Yes, bull's eye," said Dale, with boisterous good-humor. "Hand him out a cokernut. But may I ask how you guessed my place of origin so pat?"