WAITE’S WET
“ It‘s a disease; he read about it in the Dai/y Mm"! on the
Underground between Aldgate and Blackfriars; but it sounds
better than plain ‘status' ; so he damned the extra ha’penny,
and put it.
To my mind it’s the shortest and plainest thing
he's ever written,
And I forgive him all.”
The company, overborne by authority, acquiesced.
Only
Neuburg, always a pessimist, doubted.
”It’s unsignedl" he
groaned, his lips, blood-stained bolsters dipped in ink, writhing
like half-boiled lobsters.
The
Editor,
with one shriek, one sob, and one sigh,
thinking of the veil of the temple, tore a napkin in default of
anything else to tear, and cried: " It is finished!
Votes for
Women! "
Neuburg, his nose working feverishly, burst into
hyena-howls.
The Master arose; calling for hot water and
sulphuric acid, he comparatively cleaned the victim’s left ear,
and bit another piece off.
Calm was restored,1
Remembering Mr. Waite’s statement in Who's Who that
he “holds nearly all degrees of Masonry known in England,
and some which are here unknown," Crowley dictated the
followingי1616911111?
"Waite,
Esquire,
Etcetera,
Sidmouth
Lodge,
South
Ealing.
“Yes.
“ALEISTER CROWLEY.
”Apprentice, Companion, Master, Secret Master, Perfect
Master, Intimate Secretary, Provost
and
Judge,
Valiant
\ח1? the event, Neuburg proved to have been justified in his scepticism.
The telegram was not from Waite; it was a practical joke of Dr. Wynn
Westcott's, possibly,
But I can no more rewrite this article than Crowley can
replace Neuburg‘s ear,—A. Q.,JR.
235