Diary of a Drug Fiend

12 The Diary of a Drug Fiend I have learnt since then that certain races, particu- larly the Japanese, have made a definite science starting from this fact. For example, they clap their hands four times “in order to drive away evil spirits.” That is, of course, only a figure of speech. What they really do is this: the physical gesture startles the mind out of its lethargy, so that the idea which has been troubling it is replaced by a new one. They have various dodges for securing a new one and making sure that the new one shall be pleasant. More of this later. What happened is that at this moment my mind was seized with sharp, black anger, entirely objectless. I had at the time not the faintest inkling as to its nature, but there it was. The café was intolerable—like a pest-house. I threw a coin on the table, and was astonished to notice that it rolled off. I went out as if the devil were at my heels. | I remember practically nothing of the next half- hour. I felt a kind of forlorn sense of being lost in a world of incredibly stupid and malicious dwarfs. I found myself in Piccadilly quite suddenly. A voice purred in my ear, ‘ Good old Peter, good old sport, awfully glad I met you—we'll make a night of it.” The speaker was a handsome Welshman still in his prime. Some people thought him one of the best sculptors living. He had, in fact, a following of dis- ciples which I can only qualify as “ almost unpleasantly so.’”’ He had no use for humanity at the bottom of his heart, except as convenient shapes which he might model. He was bored and disgusted to find them pretending to be alive. The annoyance had grown until he had got into the habit of drinking a good deal more and a good deal more often than a lesser man might have needed. He was a much bigger man than I was physically, and he took me by the arm almost as if he had been taking me into custody. He poured into my ear an interminable series of rambling