Diary of a Drug Fiend

290 The Diary of a Drug Fiend mind—it was like one of those transparent golden sunsets after a thunderstorm in the Mediterranean. I revelled in the ingenuity of Mr. Platt’s proceedings. I gloated with devilish intensity upon the jest of carrying out so magnificent a scheme beneath so complete a camouflage. It was the vision of Satan disguised as an angel of light. ‘* Yes, indeed, the whole affair is eminently gratifying from every point of view,” answered Platt. ‘“‘ Never in all my life have I been permitted to see with such luminous ‘clarity the designs of providential loving- kindness.” ‘Alas! my dear Mr. Platt,” I replied gloomily, as the stage directions seemed to indicate, ‘‘ I am a very young and ignorant man, and I am unable at present to see any part for me in the design. My mere approval of your product——”’ I took it out and treated myself to a long, languishing kiss—yes, kiss, there is no other word for it! My long-lost love, home to my heart once more | Platt in his turn assumed an air of Stygian melancholy. “My dear Sir Peter,” he pursued, with a heavy sigh, “you can easily understand that, huge as my fortune, thanks to the inscrutable ways of Destiny, now is, time is necessary to realise it fully—and, by a singular and most unfortunate conjunction of circumstances, not only time is required, but—Capital.” “Unfortunate conjuncture of circumstances?” I echoed dreamily—my mind was royally racing in the Circus of Infinity, a billion leagues from where anybody sat. “Unfortunate, that is, for me,” corrected Platt, “no, no, I won’t say that, since it is fortunate for my friend—for you!” “ For me? ” “For you, my dear Sir Peter! I told Mrs. Webster of the state of the case—and she immediately suggested your name. She has come to the rescue splendidly herself, I need hardly tell you—took all the shares she