able to eat, and eat, and had never been satisfied, and had never
felt sick--a lovely dream.

He often thought of it. And now in the same bewildering fashion he
found his boots and cap and coat and then, deliberately keeping from
him the thought of the Pantomime lest he should suddenly wake up, he
said:

"I'm ready, Uncle."

Samuel Trefusia looked at him.

"You're a strange kid," he said; "you take everything so quietly--
but, thank God, I don't understand children."

"There's Hamlet," said Jeremy, wondering whether perhaps the
dream would extend to his friend. "I suppose he can't come too."

"No, he certainly can't," said Uncle Samuel grimly.

"And there's Rose. She'll wonder where I've gone."

"I've told her. Don't you worry. What a conscientious infant you
are. Just like your father. Anything else?"

"No," said Jeremy breathlessly, and nearly murdered himself going
downstairs because he shut his eyes in order to continue the dream
so long as it was possible. Then in the cold night air, grasping his
uncle's hand with a feverish hold, he stammered: