Lest the imp mistake his dishonest amusement, Satan cut off the report. “Enough of that irreverent stuff. Listen carefully now to instructions from the First and Last. That liner likely will wait for a man of Cabot’s importance. See that you get aboard with him. You’re to closer-than-a-brother him through an opportunity for inciting cowardice which will present itself. While he sleeps insinuate into his mind a terror of death by falling and by drowning. Strengthen his primal appetence of self-protection. This is the last chance you get with me. If you fail to make an arrant coward of this man you’ll find yourself out of a deviling job for death. I am busy now, as you’d better be. A bad afternoon to you!” The Regent of Reversals was “on terms” with the elements, as with all forces for evil through good. On hearing that calm had been planned for the high-seas, he discarded the idea of a marine storm. Always had his worst results been obtained through natural causes. Indeed, he had come to pride himself that no cause was _too_ natural for him. Particularly did he dislike, for reasons of his own, to interfere with a rainbow, it being a symbol to him that the Earth would not be destroyed by water. Since he had only fire as a weapon he would be in a bad fix if the coup ultimate should be sprung upon him with water power. Of course, the coup wasn’t to be sprung, not if he could forestall it, but even yet he was wracked by unrighteous rage every time he recalled Noah’s Flood. That time, he had been about as powerful as a case of dynamite--_soaked_. One decent thing about the Great-I-Am was that He never forgot a promise. One could count upon a rainbow, once one saw it. And Satan was “counting.” Upon the single great indestructible under his control he must depend to vary the monotony of a placid sea. Never had the three single-eyed Cyclopeans of mythology failed to serve his purposes. Lightning Flash, Thunderbolt and Rolling Thunder would advance his scheme. Motivation and “natural causes” arranged, he sent a peremptory summons for the Prime Minister and to him detailed instructions in the duties of a proxy escort. An hour before dawn Sin was to awaken the Royal Entertainer and conduct her straightway to the stadium of the Ball of Life. That “best bubble” of infernal invention was to entertain her by picturing some interesting Earth events as they occurred. “I shall not fail Your Damnity,” the old toady assured him. “Better not,” was all Satan said as he finger-flashed his First Emissary of Evil out the royal suite. His Master Crier was called; told to issue a general invitation to the forthcoming spectacle; warned that the stadium must be filled to its last seat, despite the unconventional hour. Not until this sop to his vanity had been applied, did His Lowness close the “office” and himself depart.