.

"What are you going to do about it?"

From the choleric exhibition he gave there and then it has been an
unceasing wonder with me to this day that he has not long since died of
apoplexy.

Hour by hour, after the warden's discomfited departure, I rapped on and
on the tale of my adventures. Not until that night, when Pie-Face Jones
came on duty and proceeded to steal his customary naps, were Morrell and
Oppenheimer able to do any talking.

"Pipe dreams," Oppenheimer rapped his verdict.

Yes, was my thought; our experiences _are_ the stuff of our dreams.

"When I was a night messenger I hit the hop once," Oppenheimer continued.
"And I want to tell you you haven't anything on me when it came to seeing
things. I guess that is what all the novel-writers do--hit the hop so as
to throw their imagination into the high gear."

But Ed Morrell, who had travelled the same road as I, although with
different results, believed my tale. He said that when his body died in
the jacket, and he himself went forth from prison, he was never anybody
but Ed Morrell. He never experienced previous existences. When his
spirit wandered free, it wandered always in the present. As he told us,
just as he was able to leave his body and gaze upon it lying in the
jacket on the cell floor, so could he leave the prison, and, in the
present, revisit San Francisco and see what was occurring. In this
manner he had visited his mother twice, both times finding her asleep. In
this spirit-roving he said he had no power over material things. He
could not open or close a door, move any object, make a noise, nor
manifest his presence. On the other hand, material things had no power
over him. Walls and doors were not obstacles. The entity, or the real
thing that was he, was thought, spirit.

"The grocery store on the corner, half a block from where mother lived,
changed hands," he told us. "I knew it by the different sign over the
place. I had to wait six months after that before I could write my first
letter, but when I did I asked mother about it. And she said yes, it had
changed."

"Did you read that grocery sign?" Jake Oppenheimer asked.

"Sure thing I did," was Morrell's response. "Or how could I have known
it?"

"All right," rapped Oppenheimer the unbelieving. "You can prove it easy.
Some time, when they shift some decent guards on us that will give us a
peep at a newspaper, you get yourself thrown into the jacket, climb out
of