to me!" Anthony snapped. "What----"

"I'm not lying, sir," David said in the same vague, far-away tone. "I
must have been asleep, Mr. Fry. I remember having a terrible dream--it
was about father and it seemed to me that he was dying. There were
doctors all about the bed and father was calling to me, and it seemed to
me that I must get to him, no matter what stood in the way. I remember
trying to go to him, and then--why, I must have fallen there, sir, and
wakened."

For an instant the vagueness left his eyes and they looked straight at
Anthony.

"May I go to father now?" he asked. "That--that dream upset me."

"Morning will do for father," Anthony said briefly.

"But I have a feeling that something terrible's going to happen if I
don't go----"

Anthony Fry laid a kindly hand on his shoulder.

"Get back to bed, youngster," he smiled. "You're nervous, I suppose,
being in a strange bed, and all that sort of thing. And incidentally,
get off those clothes and give them to Wilkins."

David gulped audibly.

"I'll pass them out to Wilkins, if I must, sir," he said in the
queerest, choking voice--and he turned from them and shuffled down the
corridor to the north bedroom of Anthony Fry's apartment.

"Curious kid!" Anthony muttered.

"Not nearly as curious as you are," said Johnson Boller. "You didn't
even go through his pockets and get out the stuff while he was here, and
we could see just what he'd taken! You let him go in there and dump the
pockets before he gives up the clothes and----"

Anthony permitted himself a grin and a yawn.

"My dear chap, go back to bed and forget it," he said impatiently. "The
boy was stealing nothing. He may have been trying to escape; he may have
been walking in his sleep. Consciously or subconsciously, he's certainly
giving us a demonstration of humanity's tendency to dodge its
opportunities."

Johnson Boller gave it up and returned, soured, to his Circassian walnut
bedstead--soured because, if there was one thing above all others that
he abominated, it was being routed out in the middle of the night.

Five minutes or more he spent in muttering before he drifted away again,
this time to arrive at somebody's grand ball in Montreal. It was a
tremendous function, plainly given in honor of Beatrice's arrival in
town, yet she was not immediately visible. Johnson Boller's dream
personality hunted around for some time before it found her in the
conservatory.

Behind thick palms, Be