I noted how ill he seemed. He dropped
into the corner over against me with a sigh, made an incomplete
attempt to arrange his travelling shawl, and became motionless,
with his eyes staring vacantly. Presently he was moved by a sense
of my observation, looked up at me, and put out a spiritless hand
for his newspaper. Then he glanced again in my direction.

I feigned to read. I feared I had unwittingly embarrassed
him, and in a moment I was surprised to find him speaking.

"I beg your pardon?" said I.

"That book," he repeated, pointing a lean finger, "is about
dreams."

"Obviously," I answered, for it was Fortnum Roscoe's Dream
States, and the title was on the cover.

He hung silent for a space as if he sought words. "Yes," he
said at last, "but they tell you nothing."

I did not catch his meaning for a second.

"They don't know," he added.

I looked a little more attentively at his face.

"There are dreams," he said, "and dreams."

That sort of proposition I never dispute.

"I suppose--" he hesitated. "Do you ever dream? I mean
vividly."

"I dream very little," I answered. "I doubt if I have three
vivid dreams in a year."

"Ah!" he said, and seemed for a moment to collect his
thoughts.

"Your dreams don't mix with your memories?" he asked abruptly.
"You don't find yourself in doubt; did this happen or did it not?"

"Hardly ever. Except just for a momentary hesitation now and
then. I suppose few people do."

"Does he say--?" He indicated the book.

"Says it happens at times and gives the usual explanation
about intensity of impression and the like to account for its not
happening as a rule. I suppose you know something of these
theories--"

"Very little--except that they are wrong."

His emaciated hand played with the strap of the window for a
time. I prepared to resume reading, and that seemed to precipitate
his next remark. He leant forward almost as though he would touch
me.

"Isn't there something called consecutive dreaming--that goes
on night after night?"

"I believe there is. There are cases given in most books on
mental trouble."

"Mental trouble! Yes. I daresay there are. It's the right
place for them. But what I mean--" He looked at his bony
knuckles. "Is that sort of thing always dreaming? Is it dreaming?
Or is it something else? Mightn't it be something else?"

I should have snubbed his persistent conversation but for the
drawn anxiety of his face. I r