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