But suddenly, to my amazement, he took me by the shoulders and turned me away.

“That’ll do,” he said curtly.  “I didn’t ask you to come in here with a view to learning anything from you.  I wanted to see how it struck you.  I shall send for you again—­and again—­”

Then he began to jabber, half to himself.

“Bah!” he muttered. “‘Is that all?’ they ask before a stupendous thing.  Show them the ocean, the heavens, infinity, and they ask, ‘Is that all?’ If they saw their God face to face they’d ask it!...  There’s only one Cause, that works now in good and now in evil, but show It to them and they put their heads on one side and begin to appraise and patronise It!...  I tell you, what’s seen at a glance flies away at a glance.  Gods come slowly over you, but presently, ah! they begin to grip you, and at the end there’s no fleeing from them!  You’ll tell me more about my statue by-and-by!...  What was that you said?” he demanded, facing swiftly round on me.  “That arm?  Ah, yes; but we’ll see what you say about that arm six months from now!  Yes, the arm....  Now be off!” he ordered me.  “I’ll send for you again when I want you!”

He thrust me out.

“An asylum, Mr. Benlian,” I thought as I crossed the yard, “is the place for you!” You see, I didn’t know him then, and that he wasn’t to be judged as an ordinary man is.  Just you wait till you see....

And straight away, I found myself vowing that I’d have nothing more to do with him.  I found myself resolving that, as if I were making up my mind not to smoke or drink—­and (I don’t know why) with a similar sense that I was depriving myself of something.  But, somehow, I forgot, and within a month he’d been in several times to see me, and once or twice had fetched me in to see his statue.

In two months I was in an extraordinary state of mind about him.  I was familiar with him in a way, but at the same time I didn’t know one scrap more about him.  Because I’m a fool (oh, yes, I know quite well, now, what I am) you’ll think I’m talking folly if I even begin to tell you what sort of a man he was.  I don’t mean just his knowledge (though I think he knew everything—­sciences, languages, and all that) for it was far more than that.  Somehow, when he was there, he had me all restless and uneasy; and when he wasn’t there I was (there’s only the one word for it) jealous—­as jealous as if he’d been a girl!  Even yet I can’t make it out....

And he knew how unsettled he’d got me; and I’ll tell you how I found that out.

Straight out one night, when he was sitting up in my place, he asked me:  “Do you like me, Pudgie?” (I forgot to say that I’d told him they used to call me Pudgie at home, because I was little and fat; it was odd, the number of things I told him that I wouldn’t have told anybody else.)

“Do you like me, Pudgie?” he said.

As for my answer, I don’t know how it spurted out.  I was much more surprised than he was, for I really didn’t intend it.  It was for all the world as if somebody else was talking with my mouth.