The Nightmare Had Triplets by Branch Cabell

way alone, may perfection be, not ever reached, to be sure, my dear sir, but adumbrated.”
        “I shall make a note of that also, Smirt—for our future guidance.”
        “And for another matter, Company, the planet lacks distinction. It is shaped, I mean, exactly like any other planet; it is ornamented with the usual continents and oceans; and the trite moon attends it. Your firm really does fall rather into a rut, sir, I am afraid, when I consider the thousands of quite similar planets which you have already produced.”
        The fiend wriggled under the continued candor of Smirt’s criticism. And Company now said, to defend himself:
        “But it is the All-Highest, Smirt, who attends to the designing and to cosmology in general. He has many sterling qualities, let us remember. I do not I say that inventiveness is one of them. And at His age every artist has necessarily formed his style.”
        “That is true,” said Smirt, “even when the style ambles in unabashed mediocrity; and I have no doubt that, after all, the firm has done its best. One should not, perhaps, in strict fairness, ask more. Nevertheless, for your own good, I must warn you that among the better class of critics mere repetition is not esteemed. It is not seemly that space should be thus cluttered up with planets as indistinguishable from one another as the books of an aging novelist.”
        At that, Company produced once more his small red book.
        “I shall make yet another note, Smirt, of the fact that you wish the physical universe altered from beginning to end; and we will of course weigh the suggestion with due care.”
        “And for another matter, Company, now that we are upon the topic of evil, and since it has thus cropped up of itself, as it were, as naturally as original sin—”
        “But were we indeed upon the topic of evil, Smirt?”
        “Obviously, my dear sir, since both you and I are even now talking about it. Evil, as I was about to note with regret when you interrupted me—oh, but no apologies are necessary!—evil is not what it used to be; and all human wickedness tends to deteriorate in its quality. Now I hold no brief for evil: quite possibly, from an ethical point of view, it would be as well to abolish evil, howsoever unsettling might be the resultant disemployment of former members of the police force, of the bar, and of the judiciary. That, you understand, is a matter concerning which I reserve opinion. I note merely, sir, that evil is your province. My point is merely that so long as you, Company, continue to supply the world with evil, it should be your pride as an artist to furnish a somewhat superior grade to that now in use.”
        The fiend had opened his little red book yet again, asking,—
        “And what do you suggest, Smirt—?”
        “I suggest that the first step, the really decisive step, is to effect a complete change in our modern style of dress. It cannot possibly have escaped your notice that since men took to wearing dull colors their crimes have become equally dull.”
        “That is perhaps true. But even so—”
        “In a sack suit, in a suit just such as he knows some hundreds of other men to be wearing,” Smirt went on, “a criminal will instinctively hold up, and rob the cash register of, a shoe store or a filling station, he will forge a cheque, he will rape a trained nurse, or he will commit some other folly equally vulgar and un-exhilarating. Yet when suitably costumed, let us say, in a scarlet and gold doublet, or if given a neat crown and a robe of imperial purple—when made properly conspicuous, I repeat—that same misguided person might well become a Borgia or a Nero, and sin quite handsomely.”
        “I do not deny that, Smirt. It is only that this theory—”
        “This established rule, my dear fellow. I recall an instructive instance, now that you continue to harp on this topic. An