"Incombustible," he said, putting it down. "Could I have just a tiny drop more? Just brandy and pepper, if you _don't_ mind. Set alight. I don't care for water except when it's super-heated steam." And as the Author poured out another stiff glass of this incandescent brew, the stoker put up his hand and scratched the matted black hair over his temple. Then instantly he desisted and sat looking wickedly at the Author, while the Author stared at him aghast. For at the corner of his square, high, narrow forehead, revealed for an instant by the thrusting back of the hair, a curious stumpy excrescence had been visible; and the top of his ear--he had a pointed top to his ear! "A-a-a-a-h!" said the Author, with dilated eyes. "A-a-a-a-h!" said the stoker, in hopeless distress. "But you aren't----!" "I know--I know I'm not. I know.... I'm a devil. A poor, lost, homeless devil." And suddenly, with a gesture of indescribable despair, the apparent stoker buried his face in his hands and burst into tears. "Only man who's ever been decently kind to me," he sobbed. "And now--you'll chuck me out again into the beastly wet and cold.... Beautiful fire.... Nice drink.... Almost homelike.... Just to torment me.... Boo-ooh!" And let it be recorded to the credit of our little Author, that he did overcome his momentary horror, that he did go quickly round the table, and that he patted that dirty stoker's shoulder. "There!" he said. "There! Don't mind my rudeness. Have another nice drink. Have a hell of a drink. I won't turn you out if you're unhappy--on a day like this. Have just a mouthful of pepper, man, and pull yourself together." And suddenly the poor devil caught hold of his arm. "Nobody good to me," he sobbed. "Nobody good to me." And his tears ran down over the Author's plump little hand--scalding tears. § 4 All really wonderful things happen rather suddenly and without any great emphasis upon their wonderfulness, and this was no exception to the general rule. This Author went on comforting his devil as though this was nothing more than a chance encounter with an unhappy child, and the devil let his grief and discomfort have vent in a manner that seemed at the time as natural as anything could be. He was clearly a devil of feeble character and uncertain purpose, much broken down by harshness and cruelty, and it throws a curious light upon the general state of misconception with regard to matters diabolical that it came as a quite pitiful discovery to our Author that a devil could be unhappy and heart-broken. For a long time his most earnest and persistent questioning could gather nothing except that his guest was an exile from a land of great warmth and considerable entertainment, and it was only after considerable further applications of brandy and pepper that the sobbing confidences of the poor creature grew into the form of a coherent and understandable narrative.