CHAPTER II.

Now this Devil was a Water-Devil of the most pronounced type.  His head-quarters were on the Thames at Barking, where there is a sewage outfall, and he had lately established a branch-office on the Cam, where he did a considerable business.

Occasionally, he would run down to Cambridge himself, to consult with his manager, and on these occasions he would indulge his playful humour by going out at night and sitting on the pillows of Undergraduates.

This was one of his nights out, and he had chosen George GINSLING’s pillow as his seat.

* * * * *

George woke up with a start.  What was this feeling in his throat?  Had he swallowed his blanket, or his cocoa-nut matting?  No, they were still in their respective places.  He tore out his tongue and his tonsils, and examined them.  They were on fire.  This puzzled him.  He replaced them.  As he did so, a shower of red-hot coppers fell from his mouth on to his feet.  The agony was awful.  He howled, and danced about the room.  Then he dashed at the whiskey, but the bottle ducked as he approached, and he failed to tackle it.  Poor George, you see, was a rowing-man, not a football-player.  Then he knew what he wanted.  In his keeping-room were six carafes, full of Cambridge water, and a dozen bottles of Hunyadi Janos.  He rushed in, and hurled himself upon the bottles with all his weight.  The crash was dreadful.  The foreign bottles, being poor, frail things, broke at once.  He lapped up the liquid like a thirsty dog.  The carafes survived.  He crammed them with their awful contents, one after another, down his throat.  Then he returned to his bed-room, seized his jug, and emptied it at one gulp.  His bath was full.  He lifted it in one hand, and drained it as dry as a University sermon.  The thirst compelled him—­drove him—­made him—­urged him—­lashed him—­forced him—­shoved him—­goaded him—­to drink, drink, drink water, water, water!  At last he was appeased.  He had cried bitterly, and drunk up all his tears.  He fell back on his bed, and slept for twenty-four hours, and the Devil went out and gave his gyp, Starling, a complete set of instructions for use in case of flood.

CHAPTER III.

Starling was a pale, greasy man.  He was a devil of a gyp.  He went into GEORGE’s bed-room and shook his master by the shoulder.  George woke up.

“Bring me the College pump,” he said.  “I must have it.  No, stay,” he continued, as Starling prepared to execute his orders, “a hair of the dog—­bring it, quick, quick!”

Starling gave him three.  He always carried them about with him in case of accidents.  George devoured them eagerly, recklessly.  Then with a deep sigh of relief, he went stark staring mad, and bit Starling in the fleshy part of the thigh, after which he fell fast asleep again.  On awaking, he took his name off the College books, gave Starling a cheque for L5000, broke off his engagement, but forgot to post the letter, and consulted a Doctor.