"I have a suit of Clothes you can have."

"Thanks awfully," he said. "But from the slight acquaintance we have
had, I don't beleive they would fit me."

"Gentleman's Clothes," I said fridgidly.

"You have?"

"In my Studio," I said. "I can bring them, if you like. They look quite
good, although Creased."

"You know" he said, after a moment's silence, "I can't quite beleive
this is realy happening to me! Go and bring the suit of clothes,
and--you don't happen to have a cigar, I suppose?"

"I have a large box of Cigarettes."

"It is true," I heard him say through the door. "It is all true. I am
here, locked in. The Play is almost done. And a very young lady on the
doorstep is offering me a suit of Clothes and Tobaco. I pinch myself. I
am awake."

Alas! Mingled with my joy at serving my Ideal there was also greif. My
idle had feet of clay. He was a slave, like the rest of us, to his body.
He required clothes and tobaco. I felt that, before long, he might even
ask for an apple, or something to stay the pangs of hunger. This I felt
I could not bare.

Perhaps I would better pass over quickly the events of the next hour. I