William wiped his mouth politely.
"Oh, no," he said. "I don't mind goin' on a bit longer. 'Sides my family's not as fond of musick as wot you are."
When William had gone, Strange returned to the poem, but inspiration had fled.
After lunch he began a strikingly original essay on "Nature the Divine." Then William called again. This time he proudly brought a live mouse and a dead hedgehog to show his friend. He also carried (with difficulty) a jar full of muddy water containing squirming water creatures of repellent appearance and sinister expressions.
Vivian Strange pricked his finger on the dead hedgehog and was bitten by the mouse. On retiring precipitately from the mouse he knocked over the jar of water which William had thoughtfully placed on the edge of his bureau. Holding his bitten finger in his mouth, he watched the water as it dripped partly on to the carpet, partly upon a new satin cushion. He also watched his blotting-paper and pens and stamps and literary masterpieces floating in mud amongst wriggling, nightmare creatures. He raised his hand to his head.
"This," he said, "is the last straw."
William, who was on his knees, rescuing as many of the creatures as he could, raised a face purple with effort.
"'S all right," he said pleasantly. "Don't you worry about it. I don't mind. Honest, I don't. I can get some more. Honest, I can ... an' anyway, some's not dead. You didn't reely get a proper look at 'em, did you? I'll get some more to-morrow an' you can have 'em to keep. But don't you worry about droppin' 'em. I don't mind."
Half an hour later, his face pale and set, Vivian took up his half-written essay, "Nature the Divine." There was a muddy pool through the middle of it, and a tadpole's corpse reposed peacefully in one corner. With averted eyes Vivian dropped it into the fire.
As he lay wakeful through the night, he searched in his mind for some form of literature that could resist the blighting effects of his young friend's frequent and devastating visits. With a lightning flash of inspiration came the answer—a sensational story. Vivian had never before lowered his genius to writing a sensational story, but he felt that the time had come. Some story that would carry itself along of its own momentum, that even a visit from William would not be able to turn from its course.