“Oh! to insure!” I exclaimed in anger: “you are a barbarian, Thomas Magnus!”
At last he understood. Smiling cordially, he stretched, yawned and laid some paper before me.
“You really are a gentleman from Mars, dear Wondergood. Don’t contradict, and sign this paper. It is the last one.”
“I will sign, but under one condition. Your explosion must not touch the Vatican.”
He laughed again:
“Would you be sorry? Then you had better not sign. In general, if you are sorry about anything—about anything at all—it would be better for us to part before it is too late. There is no room for pity in my game and my play is not for sentimental American girls.”
“If you please....” I signed the paper and threw it aside. “But it seems as if you have earnestly entered upon the duties of Satan, dear Magnus!”
“And does Satan have duties? Poor Satan! Then I don’t want to be Satan!”
“Neither duties nor obligations?”
“Neither duties nor obligations.”