’The use of an unexpected weapon in warfare is in itself half a victory.  Induce your antagonist to employ it as a match for you, and reckon on completely routing him . . .’ says the old military chronicle.

‘Come!’ said the Demon with easy raillery.  ’You know your game—­I mine!  I really want the good people to be happy; dancing, kissing, propagating, what you will.  We quite agree.  You can have no objection to me, but a foolish old prejudice—­not personal, but class; an antipathy of the cowl, for which I pardon you!  What I should find in you to complain of—­I have only to mention it, I am sure—­is, that perhaps you do speak a little too much through your nose.’

The Monk did not fall into the jocular trap by retorting in the same strain.

‘Laugh with the Devil, and you won’t laugh longest,’ says the proverb.

Keeping to his own arms, the holy man frowned.

‘Avaunt, Fiend!’ he cried.  ’To thy kingdom below!  Thou halt raged over earth a month, causing blights, hurricanes, and epidemics of the deadly sins.  Parley no more!  Begone!’

The Demon smiled:  the corners of his mouth ran up to his ears, and his eyes slid down almost into one.

‘Still through the nose!’ said he reproachfully.

‘I give thee Five Minutes!’ cried the Monk.

‘I had hoped for a longer colloquy,’ sighed the Demon, jogging his left leg and trifling with his tail.

‘One Minute !’ exclaimed the Monk.

‘Truly so!’ said the Demon.  ’I know old Time and his habits better than you really can.  We meet every Saturday night, and communicate our best jokes.  I keep a book of them Down There!’

And as if he had reason to remember the pavement of his Halls, he stood tiptoe and whipped up his legs.

‘Two Minutes!’

The Demon waved perfect acquiescence, and continued: 

’We understand each other, he and I. All Old Ones do.  As long as he lasts, I shall.  The thing that surprises me is, that you and I cannot agree, similar as we are in temperament, and playing for the long odds, both of us.  My failure is, perhaps, too great a passion for sport, aha!  Well, ’tis a pity you won’t try and live on the benevolent principle.  I am indeed kind to them who commiserate my condition.  I give them all they want, aha!  Hem!  Try and not believe in me now, aha!  Ho! . . .  Can’t you?  What are eyes?  Persuade yourself you’re dreaming.  You can do anything with a mind like yours, Father Gregory!  And consider the luxury of getting me out of the way so easily, as many do.  It is my finest suggestion, aha!  Generally I myself nudge their ribs with the capital idea—­You’re above bribes?  I was going to observe—­’

‘Three!’