Immediately after he finished signing there came the sound of a small and dry little voice, from somewhere, it seemed, in the basement. The voice said one word, which it enunciated with precision. “Agreed.”

“Who the devil is that?” Webley said.

Robert blushed again, momentarily. “Our… legal department, sir,” he said. He folded the contract and then vanished gently….

***

He appeared for work the next morning. Webley had already prepared an office for him in a disused upstairs bedroom, complete with typewriter, The MLA Style Sheet, and a small library of learned journals. He worked methodically and well, seemed to take a certain pleasure in his writing, and within three months had produced a monumental, definitive work, titled “The Lyric Cry in Colley Cibber: A Reappraisal.” When this was finished, Robert suggested that he show it to Mr. Cibber, who, he said, had a small walk-up apartment in suburban Hell; but Webley would not hear of it. “Just stick to the scholarship, young man.”

The dissertation, upon acceptance and publication by the University press, created a stir among a great many academic people, few of whom read it. Webley soon found himself in possession of a very congenial job, with a low salary and few duties. A month later he received a large fellowship from a foundation; and upon his first PMLA publication, the controversy-stirring article “Threads of Francophilism in John Webster’s The White Devil,” found himself with an associate professorship and even fewer duties.

The demon’s work was inspired. His style managed to be ornate and terse at one and the same time; he was greatly sardonic about everyone and everything except a handful of third-rate poets; he displayed an astonishing prowess at ignoring the obvious and seizing upon the manifestly impossible; and his footnotes were awe-inspiring. Within a year Webley’s name had become an unshakeable star in the academic firmament.

When Robert handed the tenth paper to his employer he seemed actually sad that this would be the last of his scholarly work. He had grown to love his job.

Webley, interpreting Robert’s hesitancy rightly, was immediately struck by an idea. He explained it to the demon. He, Webley, would apply for a year’s leave of absence with pay, so that he might write a book. He had been feeling oppressed, of late, by the restrictions of his teaching schedule, however light; and, besides, there was a graduate assistant, a certain Miss Hopkins, with whom he was much taken. Miss Hopkins had already expressed a deep-seated wish to visit Acapulco. As for himself, he enjoyed spear fishing as well as the next fellow. Now, as for the book…. He would be glad to sign a new contract.