on, he sought his pillow in a
comfortable frame of mind. Comfortable, but not wholly at rest, for no
sooner did he close his eyes than the "fever of futile protest"
asserted itself in turbulent visions of paper, paint and plastering.
Dados danced around in carnival dress; wall decorations went waltzing
up and down, changing in shape, size and color like the figures in a
kaleidoscope; Chinese pagodas on painted paper dissolved into brazen
sconces, and candelabra sat where no light would ever shine; glazed
plaques turned into Panama hats and cotton umbrellas, the classic
figures in the frieze began to chase the peacocks furiously across the
ceilings, the storks hopped wildly around on their one available leg,
draperies of every conceivable hue and texture, from spider webs to
sole leather, shaking the dust from their folds, slipped uneasily about
on their glittering rings, and showers of Japanese fans floated down
like falling apple blossoms in the month of May. He seemed to see the
Old Curiosity Shop, the uncanny room of Mr. Venus, a dozen foreign
departments of the Centennial, ancient garrets and modern household art
stores, all tumbled together in hopeless confusion, and over all an
emerald, golden halo that grew more and more concentrated till it burst
into gloom as one gigantic sunflower, which, suddenly changing into the
full moon just rising above the top of a neighboring roof, put an end
to his chaotic dreams.

Not willing to be moonstruck, even on the back of his head, he arose
and went to the window to draw the curtain. There was a sort of
curtainette at the top, opaque and immovable, serving simply to reduce
the height of the window. At the sides there were gauzy draperies, too
fancifully arranged to be rashly moved and too thin to serve the
purpose of a curtain even against moonlight. He tried to close the
inside shutters, but they clung to their boxes, refusing to stir
without an order from the carpenter. At the risk of catching a cold or
a fall, he opened the window and endeavored to bring the outside
blinds together. One fold hung fast to the wall, the other he contrived
to unloose, but the hook to hold it closed was wanting, and when he
tried to fasten it open again the catch refused to catch, so he was
compelled to shut the window and leave the swinging blind at the mercy
of the wind. He then improvised a screen from a high-backed chair and
an extra blanket, and again betook himself to bed. Stepping on a