The Stratagem and Other Stories

tions, was a vast, deadly pale devil with a face which was a blasphemy on Arthur’s. The evil joy of it was inde- scribable. So wan and bloated, its lips so loose and bloodless; fold after fold of its belly flopping over the rostrum and pushing the students out of the hall, it leered unspeakably. Then dribbled from its mouth these words: “Ladies and gentlemen, the course is finished. You may go home.” I cannot hope even to suggest the wickedness and filth of these simple expressions. Then, raising its voice to a grating scream, it yelled: “White of egg! White of egg! White of egg!” again and again for twenty minutes. The effect on me was shocking. It was as if I had a vision of Hell. Arthur found me in a very hysterical condition, but soon soothed me. “Do you know,” he said at dinner, “I believe I have got a devilish bad chill?” It was the first time I had known him to complain of his health. In six years he had not had as much as a headache. I told him my “dream” when we were in bed, and he seemed unusually grave, as if he understood where I had failed in its interpretation. In the morning he was feverish; I made him stay in bed and sent for the doctor. The same afternoon I learnt that Arthur was seriously ill, had been ill, indeed, for months. The doctor called it Bright's disease. VIII I said “the last of the dreams.” For the next year we travelled, and tried various treatments. My powers re- mained excellent, but I received none of the subcon- scious horrors. With few fluctuations, he grew steadily worse; daily he became more listless, more indifferent, more depressed. Our experiments were necessarily cur- tailed. Only one problem exercised him, the problem of