"Under this," said King Waan, "sits one of the most remarkable specimens in my collection. It is a little creature having the habit of describing precisely everything it sees. His watchword is: 'Truth Above Everything!' He could not have a finer one. I make very interesting experiments with him. Sometimes I put him here, sometimes there. Just now he is under this pail. Listen to him!"
A light little voice came monotonously out from under the pail:
"A rich, soft greyish violet shading off through brown into cream-white, clot-curdling stripe coagulations; long flittery-fluttery down-trickling welter-whirls filtering through pale-yellow toned-down dully shining topazy vaults; faint phlegmy greyish-green dozing off...."
And thus the voice went on until Johannes began to get quite qualmish and drowsy.
"Is not that nice? Lately, I had him in a cuspidor. You should have heard him then. Here is his label."
And he pointed to a trim little tag on which was marked: Division, Fine Arts. Naturalist, var. Word-Artist. Locality: Terra Firma of Europe. Rather rare.
"Is Van Lieverlee here, also?" asked Johannes.
"To be sure! I have him a few centuries farther on, composing sonnets," said the Wicked One. "This is a very large place although you might not think so. I can show you only a small part of it."
Then they came to a division called "Sciences," and the Devil said:
"Look! That concerns you, Wisdom-Seeker!"