Diary of a Drug Fiend

56 The Diary of a Drug Fiend ways, what price Lou! Queerest card in the pack, and I love her. ‘“‘ Give me another sniff off your hand.” Lou laughed like a chime of bells in Moscow on Easter ~ morning. Remember, the Russian Easter is not the same time as our Easter. They slipped up a fortnight one way or the other—I never can remember which— as long as you know what I mean. She threw the empty silk bag in the air, and caught it in her teeth with a passionate snap, which sent me nearly out of my mind again. I would have loved to be a bird, and have my head snapped off by those white, small, sharp incisors. Practical ‘girl, my Lady Pendragon! Instead of going off the deep end, she was cutting out another packet, and when it was opened, instead of the birds beginning to sing, she said in shrill excitement, ‘‘ Look here, Cockie, this isn’t snow.” I ought to explain that she calls me Cockie in allusion to the fact that my name is Peter. I came out of my trance. I looked at the stuff with what I imagine to have been a dull, glazed eye. Then my old training came to my rescue. It was a white powder with a tendency to form little lumps rather like chalk. I rubbed it between my finger and thumb. I smelt it. That told me nothing. I ‘tasted it. That told me nothing, either, because the nerves of my tongue were entirely anezsthetised by the cocaine. But the investigation was a mere formality. I know now why I made it. It was the mere gesture of the male. I wanted to show off to Lou. I wished to impress upon her my importance as a man of science ; and all the time I knew, without being told, what it was. So did she. The longer I have known Lou, the more impressed I am with the extent and variety of her knowledge. “‘Oh, Gretel is too sweet,” she chirped. ‘She