Diary of a Drug Fiend

Phaeton AI We were picked up as a matter of course within a couple of minutes. They put back and towed the *plane ashore. My first thought was to get more gas and go on, despite the absurdity of our position. But the sym- pathy of the men on the beach was mixed with a good deal of hearty chaff. Dripping, in evening dress, at four o’clock in the morning! Like Hedda Gabler, “one doesn’t do these things.” But the cocaine helped me again. Why the devil should I care what anybody thought? | “Where can I get gas?” I said to the captain of the smack. He smiled grimly. “ She’ll want a bit more than gas.” I glanced at the ’plane. The man was perfectly right. A week’s repairs, at the least. “You'd better go to the hotel, sir, and get some warm clothes. Look how the lady’s shivering.” It was perfectly true. There was nothing else to be done. We went together slowly up the beach. There was no question of sleeping, of course.. Both of us were as fresh as paint. What we needed was hot food and lots of it. We got it. It seemed as if we had entered upon an entirely new phase. The disaster had purged us of that orchestral oratorio business; but, on the other hand, we were still full of intense practical activity. We ate three breakfasts each. And as we ate we talked ; talked racy, violent nonsense, most of it. Yet we were both well aware that the whole thing was camouflage. What we had to do was to get married as quickly as we could, and lay in a stock of cocaine, and go away and have a perfectly glorious time for ever and ever. We sent for emergency clothes in the town, and went stalking a parson. He was an old man who had lived for years out of the world. He saw nothing